


there's nothing left of you

by notallbees



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: 1940s, Angst, Awesome Peggy, Body Dysphoria, Bottom Bucky, Captain America: The First Avenger, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Period Typical Attitudes, Pining, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Top Steve Rogers, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-16
Updated: 2014-11-16
Packaged: 2018-02-24 22:36:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2599046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notallbees/pseuds/notallbees
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky’s having a hard time reconciling Captain America with the friend he left behind in Brooklyn. It’s bad enough that every time he closes his eyes he sees the inside of a torture chamber. Now, every time he opens them again, he sees a stranger with Steve Rogers’ eyes and smile.</p>
            </blockquote>





	there's nothing left of you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sariane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sariane/gifts).
  * Translation into 中文 available: [光影消逝](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2643962) by [Erix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Erix/pseuds/Erix)



> [crooked](http://archiveofourown.org/users/crooked/) told me about an idea she had for a scene where Bucky gets really jealous of Steve and Peggy in the London pub, and tries to make him jealous by blowing some British soldier in an alleyway. That was exactly what I _intended_ to write, but then it became 20,000 words of pining, PTSD and body dysphoria. Believe me, nobody is more pleased than she is right now. 
> 
> Title from [Ballroom Blitz](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LmCIe2VEOtE) (I know, I know).

  
_“Nothing in life is so exhilarating as to be shot at without result.”_ \- Winston Churchill

It had been six days. That's what the clock kept telling him. The calendar wouldn't lie. Six days since they'd wrenched him out of a gritty torture chamber in Austria.

Not they. Him. The man - the _god_ \- who'd taken Steve's voice and Steve's hands and stuck them on the body of Michelangelo's David. The man who kept looking at him, watching him, staring at him, as if he might sprout gills or start tap dancing any minute. 

Bucky didn't stare back. They'd bunked together the first night, in camp. Bucky had wanted to stay with his men, but Steve insisted, and nobody was gonna deny him anything on that particular day.

Steve made space in the partitioned off corner of the long tent he shared with the chorus girls. 

"I know," he'd said, seeing Bucky’s scandalized expression. "'Ain't no shame in show business, Rogers'," he parroted, trying to make Bucky laugh. 

Bucky wanted to laugh, but his mouth could only remember how to scream right then. Steve had leaned in, perched on the edge of his cot in his skivvies, and dropped his voice to a husky whisper. "Sometimes," he said, so quiet Bucky had to lean forward to hear him, "I hear a couple of em." He didn't blush the way he used to, just a little color on his cheekbones. His eyes were wide, his knees spread as he welcomed Bucky into his secret. "Pleasing themselves. Or - or each other."

"Well, ain't that something," Bucky said, because it seemed like the right thing to say. He was trying to remember how sex felt, when was the last time he'd done it, whether he'd ever laid awake listening to a girl pleasure herself.

"I do try not to listen," Steve said, looking uncomfortable. "Just my hearing's a lot better now, and some of em ain't all that quiet."

"That's okay, Rogers. Your secret's safe with me." 

Six days on, Bucky had remembered how to smile and laugh without trying so hard to get there. He'd tumbled one of the chorus girls on the basis of being the Captain’s best pal, and made sure Steve walked in to see. Then they were haring across Europe, Carter and Phillips eager to get their new golden boy into the war room. 

Bucky kept close to Dugan on the boat from France, because Dugan got seasick, and keeping him company was as good an excuse as any to hide from Captain America. 

"Got a story for me, Bucky?" Dugan asked, groaning. "Take my mind off this godforsaken swell."

"Sure," Bucky said, leaning back against the rail. He racked his brain to think of anything he might not have spilled his guts on before. When he first got drafted, he'd handed them out like candy. Everyone did. Talking about home was a way to keep themselves sane, but the longer they were out there, the less they did it. It got harder to get close to people, knowing they might get disintegrated right in front of you, without a second’s notice.

Then there was the fact that all the stories Bucky had ever told to his buddies had been about Steve, somehow. Whether it was Steve shooting his mouth off and getting them into a fight, or Steve tripping on the dancefloor and almost ripping a girl’s dress clean off, or burning dinner because he’d gone and trapped himself on the fire escape. Most of the guys talked about their girls; ones they’d fooled around with, ones they were gonna marry, or ones they’d put a ring on before leaving and had the sweetest three nights of screwing before their boat left. Bucky didn’t have a girl, not a steady one anyway, and he took a lot of ribbing about Steve being his little woman, but he just shrugged and smiled through it, and if anyone thought it was more than it was, they never gave him trouble. 

"It's him, ain't it?" Dugan asked, before Bucky could think of something to tell him. Something that didn't involve Steve. Dugan pushed himself upright with a grimace. "That big damn hero, Rogers. He's the kid you're always talking about."

Bucky nodded, his mouth tight. Dugan sighed and turned around with him to face across the deck, away from the waves. "Way you talk about him, I knew to expect one hell of a guy, but he's something else."

"He's not - he didn't used to be like that. Look like that."

"Army beat him into shape, huh?"

Bucky snorted. "And then some."

"So what I wanna know, since you clearly think the sun shines out of his star spangled ass, why it is you've barely looked at him since we left that shithole in Europe?"

"We're still _in_ Europe," Bucky said with a practised smirk.

"Yeah, welI, England's a more civilised kinda Europe."

Bucky laughed, a little dark and bitter. His own memories of England, brief as they were before the 107th had been shunted over to France and then Italy, were not especially glamorous. 

He remembered the shy smile of Private Halloran, an Irish kid from Red Hook who'd already lost a brother to the war, and the way he shook when Bucky corrected his rifle grip. He remembered the girls, so much more forward than at home. Netting an American G.I., even just for a tumble, was a badge of honor, plus the women over there had spent more years sending their men away, and they were hungry for a little affection. He remembered dancing to the same songs from back home and missing the glow of Steve's hair under the dance hall lights.

"If you say so."

"I'm sure he's not as different as you think he is." Bucky looked away from him, but Dugan kept going. "I'm sure you're not either." He looked past Bucky and grinned before shambling to a sloppy salute. "Captain on deck."

"Sergeant," Steve said, returning the salute. "Private. Rough night?"

"Still finding my sea legs," Dugan said with forced cheer. "But I think my stomach's hollow enough by now. If you'll excuse me, I'm gonna go and look for a place to lie down and die quietly."

Bucky grinned as he walked away. "One thing you'll never be is quiet." Dugan threw a rude gesture over his shoulder, and Bucky remembered how to chuckle. 

Steve raised his eyebrows. He kept looking at Bucky as if he was some kind of miracle; the tears of a saint or the fingerbone of a martyr, rather than what he was: a lucky son of a bitch held together by boot polish and bad ideas. 

"We should be here for a couple of weeks, while everything gets arranged."

"Couple of weeks, huh?" Bucky said, leaning his elbows on the rail. 

He was finding that if he didn't know what to say, repeating the odd phrase here and there got him by. Made it sound like he hadn't checked out yet. He'd seen the medics back at camp; almost everyone had, lined up in groups outside the hospital tent, from septic cuts and cauterised blast wounds, all the way back to black eyes and blisters. Bucky had been somewhere in the middle, at Steve's insistence, but it was easier to keep his mouth shut than argue with the hero of the hour. 

"I thought - maybe we could do something together, see the sights-"

Bucky snorted, turning away to face water. "Sure you ain't mixing me up with that Carter dame you never stop talking about? We ain't exactly compatible for dating, Rogers."

"That never stopped you before," he said lightly, coming to lean on the rail beside Bucky. For a second, Bucky froze up, because if Steve knew he'd gone with guys before, he'd never mentioned it. "Besides we got almost six months to catch up on, and I gotta hear all about what it was like."

Bucky glanced at him. "What?"

"You know," he said with a vague, expansive gesture. "War, fighting, the trenches-"

"What it was like?" Bucky muttered, stunned. He was still catching his breath in relief that Steve didn't know about the guys, that threw him for a loop. "It was the worst time of my life," he said, fighting to keep his voice steady though he could feel it wavering. He rounded on Steve, feeling a faint twinge of satisfaction at the dawning horror on his dumb face. "I can't - I can't just tell you what it was like, I wouldn't even know how to begin." He cut himself off with a snarl and had to look away. "One thing I do know is that most days, the only thing getting me through was knowing that Steve Rogers was safe home in Brooklyn."

"Bucky-"

"I can't ever pay you back for pulling me off that table-"

"You don't _have_ to-"

"But I know I'd'a gladly died if it meant he was home where he belonged, getting into fights and worrying my ma sick."

"You don't have more of a right to sacrifice yourself than anybody else," Steve said coldly.

Bucky just tossed him a careless grin; he had a whole pocketful of those. “Try me, kiddo.”

Steve just shook his head sadly. “Not a chance in hell.”

 

 

Their first night in England, Bucky thought he'd rather forget. It was late when they got into the city, and they were dragged to a messy bunkhouse and given a hasty, miserable excuse for a meal. Some of the boys went out to try their luck with the local women of ill repute, teasing Steve that they'd find him a dancing girl to put his American lasses to shame. He cried off, of course, and gave Bucky such a pathetic, hopeful glance that it would've been outright cruel to ignore it. 

"How about it, Sarge?" Jones asked, tipping him a salute. 

Bucky shook his head. "I'd just ruin your game. You're all handsome devils of course, but you wouldn't stand a chance next to me."

"He's not kidding," Steve said, with a broad smile that seemed to shine light on every side of Bucky, including the ones he was still trying to keep hidden. "He had half the girls in Red Hook fighting over him."

"Well, girls from Red Hook can't be all that smart," Dugan said with a grin, and leaned over to ruffle Bucky's hair. "Get some rest, kid. You look fit to drop."

“You wanna turn in?” Steve asked, reaching over to put a hand on his shoulder. It was heavy, carrying the weight of his arm, which Bucky suspected could do a whole lot more damage than he’d seen so far. 

Bucky nodded. “Sure. I’m beat. Where’m I bunkin’?”

"I asked them to put us in together,” Steve said, sounding almost shy as he led Bucky upstairs. "That okay?"

Bucky shrugged. He should’ve known there was a reason Steve had wanted to be involved in the room assignments. "Bed's a bed." He watched the others go from over his shoulder, feeling a twitch of envy. He was anxious too, at the thought of being alone with Steve. They hadn’t had a lot of chances to talk yet - or, if they had, Bucky had found an excuse to slip away each time. Without asking, Steve had already shouldered Bucky’s bag as well as his own, with about as much effort as picking up a balloon, and Bucky just fell into step behind him as Steve led him up a narrow staircase and along a twisting hallway. 

"You want the window?"

Bucky looked up in surprise. He'd already claimed the bed by the wall out of instinct, because Steve had always slept closest to the window back home: more fresh air to his lungs that way. "Nah," Bucky said, shrugging. "I'm fine here."

"Old habits die hard I guess."

"Guess so."

Steve shrugged out of his uniform jacket with a sigh, and laid it reverently on the bed. "Gotta tell ya, I was glad to finally get that thing on but it's still good to get it off sometimes." 

Steve was the only one of them who'd worn his full service uniform since they left Italy, and it only made him stand out even more. The rest of them were dressed in mismatched shirts and pants and jackets because it was all that they had. Most of them had a single change of clothes, but they all stank to high heaven after four days on the move. Steve had been forcing some of his new, oversized clothes on Bucky, who took them because it was easier than arguing. Steve was still impossible to argue with. 

Bucky sat, half in a daze, while Steve stripped down to his skivvies as unselfconsciously as he ever had. They knew each other far too well to be embarrassed, and Steve had only ever been frustrated by his body, not ashamed of it. He blinked and was stunned to find that he'd actually dropped off where he sat. Steve was crouched in front of him, his hands on Bucky's knees. 

"Hey, you okay?" he asked, his voice soft with worry. "You want a hand stripping off?"

"Nah," he said with a lazy shake of his head. The first night in camp, Steve had offered because Bucky was too stiff and bruised to get himself undressed, but Bucky had just shaken his head and gotten into his bedroll in his clothes. He started to take his jacket off, but his arms were heavy and tired, and he couldn't seem to make them work right. He wondered when he'd last slept; it hadn't been on the boat, and he'd barely rested for their three days on the road. No wonder he could barely think. 

"C'mere," Steve said gently, reaching up to pull the jacket off him. His touch was brisk and firm, which was a relief. It was the way Bucky had used to touch Steve when he was sick, because Steve wouldn't stand to be babied, not even when he was at death's door. Steve hauled his shirt off of him and wrinkled his nose. "They’ll get everything washed for us tomorrow, and I’ll make sure to scrounge up some new threads for everyone."

"Y'think of everythin'," Bucky murmured, going easily when Steve pushed him onto his back on the bed. He felt stupid and light-headed with how tired he was, and he let out a breathy laugh when Steve's fingers brushed his hip. "Tryin' to seduce me, Captain?" He didn't really mean to say it, his mouth running off before his brain could catch up, but he'd been missing this. Missed the easy touches, missed the way it made him want more. 

"In your dreams," Steve said shortly, pulling his pants open and nudging at him until he lifted his hips. 

_If you only knew,_ Bucky thought. But if it had been true once, it wasn't anymore. These days his dreams were all nightmares. 

Steve left him in his underwear, but Bucky groaned and shifted on the bed. "I ain't sleeping in these rags," he muttered, trying ineffectually to push them down. Steve sighed and stripped him out of them with his quick, clinical touch. 

"Get some rest," he said, going to his own bed and lying on top of the sheets. "I’m here if you need anything."

Bucky thought about protesting, pointing out that he didn't need a nurse any more than he needed a hole in the head, but he bit his tongue. Refusing to let people take care of him, that was Steve's prerogative, and at least he had enough sense to keep his distance. Steve turned out the light, but Bucky could see him in the faint glow from the moon, stretched out with a book open on his chest. 

"What, now you can see in the dark too?" Bucky asked, a little accusingly. 

Steve didn't look at him. "Go to sleep, Buck."

They were both quiet for a few minutes, just the sound of Steve turning pages, and the absence of the wheeze in his chest. "It’s funny, your voice is just the same."

"Really?" Steve sounded a little surprised. "It sounds different to me. I guess because the serum fixed my hearing."

"Must be nice."

"Some of it is."

Bucky rolled over to face him. "Yeah? So what's not better about this? Keep hitting your head on door frames?"

Steve chuckled. "Not anymore."

He didn't elaborate, and Bucky frowned. "C'mon, you got everything you wanted. You’re in the army, you saved an entire goddamn battalion and then some, not to mention no more asthma -- must be nice."

"Bye bye asthma, bye bye anemia," Steve muttered, his tone strange and bitter. A little more like his old self. He mumbled something else, but it was so quiet that Bucky couldn't quite catch it. Steve sighed and closed his book. "Shut your eyes, Bucky. Don't make me sing to you."

Bucky snorted. "Heaven forbid." He did as he was told, anyway, because he'd never been any good at saying no to Steve. Just as he was falling asleep, his brain finally put together what it was Steve had muttered. _Bye bye Bucky._

 

 

It's not as if he'd never seen Steve go gaga over a beautiful dame. It was a whole other matter seeing the interest returned. Part of him was pleased, proud even - and it was a big part of him, too, Bucky wasn’t that kind of asshole. It made him feel good to see Steve looking happy and hopeful for once in his life. And it wasn’t like Bucky had ever expected -- anything. 

He sat with Steve a little longer, watched him nurse the same drink for almost an hour, while they tried to share stories about back home. Bucky let Steve do most of the talking, and used the chance to look -- really _look_ at him. He wasn’t just bigger; there was something different in the way he carried himself. He had a shyness now, a diffidence that he’d never owned to before. The Steve Rogers that Bucky had left back home was an awkward little shit, whereas now he seemed quieter, more thoughtful. 

“Shame Carter couldn’t stay,” Bucky said, when the conversation fell into another awkward lull. 

Steve shrugged, then looked over at him, his eyes narrow and piercing. “I don’t mind waiting. I think I’d wait forever for the right person.”

It caught Bucky a little by surprise. He’d forgotten, somehow, that Steve had this habit of looking right down into him and plucking out exactly the thing Bucky didn’t want him to see. “I can respect that,” he said, forcing a grin. “Although I doubt you’d have to wait too long if you wanted to take a chance on that one.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Steve muttered, returning his gaze to his drink. 

“I gotta take a leak,” Bucky said, pushing himself up from his chair. “They got a bathroom in this place?”

Steve looked around, and then pointed. “In the back, I think. That way.”

He got up and skirted around the table where the others were sitting, huddled and noisy, and leaned in to whisper to Dugan. "Keep him busy, wouldya? I can't do anymore handwringing about 'back home' or I'm gonna scream."

Dugan waved him off with a nod, and Bucky grinned at the curious look he got from Falsworth before he went on his way. When he was nearly at the bathroom, Bucky had to edge his way past a group of British soldiers, singing loudly and mostly off-key. One of them grabbed his wrist as he passed, and Bucky couldn't help flinching. He was turning to give the guy an earful, when a cheerful, warm face smiled up at him. "Have a song, mate!"

Bucky grinned. "'Fraid I don't know the words to this one, pal."

The guy eyed him over, quick, but not all that subtle. "I bet there's something we both know the words to."

"Might be," Bucky said, glancing over his shoulder at Steve. “Maybe later.”

The man raised his pint glass. “It’s a date.”

When Bucky got back, Steve had been folded into the company, and Bucky gave Dugan a grateful smile, which he answered by rolling his eyes. Yeah, fair enough. Bucky sat down between Dugan and Falsworth, and half listened to them argue good-naturedly about English vs. American beer, and other, similar nonsense. He put in once or twice when they asked him for an opinion, or when Steve looked over at him, lost and hopeful, but mostly he just listened and drank his whiskey.

After a little while, Falsworth drew him away from the others slightly and spoke quietly in his ear. "Look, Barnes, I don't mean to stick my nose in where it's not wanted, but that fellow in the corner has been staring at you for the past half hour."

Bucky followed his gaze to the rowdy group of airmen he'd passed his eyes over more than once this evening. The stocky guy in the middle who’d grabbed his arm was watching him carefully over the rim of his pint glass. 

"If you ask me, you'd best tell him to stop," Falsworth said in a low voice, knitted with concern. "The man's a fruit, I know his type. Drag you into all sorts of mischief."

"A fruit, huh?" Bucky smiled into his whiskey. "Good thing I've got a sweet tooth." He held the man's gaze and nodded, raising his glass. The other man did the same, and Bucky grinned before knocking it back. 

If he'd expected Falsworth to be shocked or disgusted, he was disappointed. He looked a little surprised, but he had enough class not to mention it. "What if _he_ asks after you?" he muttered. 

For a moment, Bucky thought he was talking about the stranger in the corner, but Falsworth's eyes flicked over to Steve, who was deep in conversation with Gabe and Morita at the next table. Maybe he sensed their gaze on him, because Steve looked around, his eyes wide and anxious until he caught sight of Bucky, then smiled. 

"Tell him I made a friend," Bucky said, his heart twisting at the look on Steve's face, knowing that those words would hurt, hoping he'd get the message. 

Bucky tipped a jaunty salute to Falsworth as he slipped out of his seat and headed for the door. Falsworth just shook his head and took a long slug of his beer. As Bucky reached the exit, he spotted his new friend stand up from his buddies in the corner. He didn’t look at Bucky, taking leave of them with laughter and casual touches, but his intentions were written in every movement, every look. The night was cold as Bucky stepped outside, London buried in a haze of fog. He took a deep breath of the thick, smoky air, so like and so unlike Brooklyn air. It had the stink of the big city alright, but none of the familiar tinges he'd known all his life. He took a walk along the street, listening to the quiet night. It was unlikely there would be a raid, not with the streets wrapped in that dingy haze, but the windows were still blacked out. Standing there on the street, he felt like he could be the only person for miles.

Laughter echoed from nearby, breaking the spell of silence, a group of young women swaying towards him out of the gloom. They whistled at him as they headed for the door of the pub, beckoning for him to follow them inside. He grinned and tipped his hat to them with a quiet, _”Evening, ladies”_ , and they giggled. Most of his men had gotten laid more in the past two days than in the last six months, and Bucky was starting to feel left out. It had been a while. The door creaked again behind him, but he didn’t turn around, and a moment later a heavy hand clapped onto his right shoulder.

"Filthy night," the man said, his voice low and conversational. English then. Only a Brit would try and pick someone up by talking about the weather.

"It ain't so bad," Bucky said, turning to give the guy a careless smile. "At least it affords a little privacy."

He shivered when the guy's hand moved across, one thumb rubbing at his neck. "Privacy for what?" the guy asked, but his gaze was heavy and full of intent. He turned, and Bucky followed his gaze to a nearby alleyway. "Fancy a walk, soldier?"

Bucky grinned and tilted his head, the same look he’d used on the girls a minute before. "I could use a constitutional."

The guy laughed and his hand slipped down to press against Bucky's lower back. Even in the veiled street, Bucky was a little impressed and excited by how brazen he was. You'd have to be on the right street back home to get away with even that much. He found himself steered none too gently in the direction of the alleyway, not that he needed the encouragement.

"You got a name?" Bucky muttered as the guy crowded him up against a blackened brick wall.

He raised an eyebrow. "I think it's safer if we don't know each other's names, don't you?"

Shrugging, Bucky reached down to unfasten the guy's pants. "Then you won't mind if I call you Steve."

"It's not my name."

"'Fraid I don't know any different," Bucky said with a grin, as he slipped his hand inside the man's clothes.

 

 

Bucky had been sleeping fitfully when he was woken by the creak of Steve getting out of bed on the other side of the room. He opened the door and had a muttered conversation with someone on the other side, too low for Bucky to make out what they were saying.

He shut the door again quietly and Bucky watched through slitted eyelids while Steve tried to dress in silence. His movements had always been a little halting and ungainly, but that was because his scoliosis was so painful some days he could barely move. This was more like Steve at fourteen or fifteen, fumbling through his last growth spurt and still hoping for a few more inches. It was uncanny how much he reminded Bucky of a Steve ten years younger, except for the inches, of course. He had plenty of those now. Back then, he'd been nothing but elbows and knees, black eyes and nosebleeds. 

Steve stepped into his underwear and Bucky watched as he tugged it up over his ass. It wasn’t all that much bigger than it used to be, which almost made Bucky smile, except that it looked like it belonged in an art gallery, well-defined and muscular where it used to be just skinny. 

When they were fourteen, Steve’s ma went to visit a cousin in Pennsylvania for a week, and Bucky came over to keep Steve company. Mrs. Rogers trusted them far enough not to burn down the building, which Bucky privately thought was a mistake, but he kept his opinions between Steve and him, just in case she changed her mind about going. It was hot that summer, roaring hot, and they dragged Steve’s mattress out to the fire escape in the evening and lay awake under all that noise and heat. They were both naked, which wasn’t unusual in itself, especially not considering the weather. Bucky was lying on his side, and Steve was stretched out on his belly, his face turned towards Bucky on the pillow. 

He didn’t remember what they’d been talking about - probably girls, because he knew that was the summer Steve started to look at girls - but they’d both kicked off the blankets and he hadn’t been able to stop looking at Steve’s pale little behind. He had a little twist of dark blond hair at the small of his back. It followed his tailbone down, and Bucky reached out without thinking and trailed it with his fingertip. Steve shivered and made a little whimpering noise of protest, but he was too sleepy to swat Bucky away, and he just giggled when Bucky did it again.

“Tickles, y’stupid jerk,” he grumbled, but he was smiling against the pillow, his eyes closed. 

Bucky took his hand back, before it got too comfortable, and reached down to grip his hand loosely around his own prick. “Sure is hot,” he said, flopping onto his back. “Hot as hell.”

Steve opened an eye and glanced down, then back at Bucky’s face. “Go’head, I don’t mind.”

“Y’don’t?” Bucky whispered, his hand already moving, slipping the skin up over the head of his dick. He licked his lips. “You, uh -- you wanna do it together?”

“Oh, I don’t--” Steve cut himself off, and turned his face into the pillow. “I’m okay,” he added, voice muffled.

Bucky grinned and shoved him gently with his free hand. “You don’t? What, not _ever_?” Steve made a pained noise, and Bucky couldn’t help but laugh at him. “Yeah, I thought so. C’mon, it don’t really make you go blind--”

“I _know_ , jeez,” Steve muttered, pissed off and a little scandalized. “My ma’s a nurse, remember?”

“You asked your _ma_?” Bucky whispered, eyes wide with admiration. 

“Ah, shut up” Steve murmured, and rolled over a few seconds later. He reached down to touch himself, a little tentative. “I guess it’s too hot t’sleep anyway.”

“You ain’t worried someone might see?”

Steve sniffed and laughed. “They’re all too busy screwin’ or tryin’ t’sleep.”

Bucky laughed too, because that was the truth alright, and while Steve was distracted, he let himself take a good look. Steve’s dick was smaller than his, and it looked a little like an empty balloon. At least, until he got hard, like he was starting to now. Bucky licked his mouth again; he’d never seen Steve like this, only when he was soft and little, and he wanted to make a joke about blowing up the balloon but he didn’t think Steve would laugh. He watched as Steve’s prick swelled up in his slim fingers, getting almost as big as Bucky’s, which was quite a sight. 

“What do you, uh - normally think about?” Steve whispered, as he started to pull on himself gently, the same way Bucky was. 

“Girls,” Bucky answered, maybe a little too fast. Steve got a little crease between his eyebrows.

“Yeah, but, what _about_ ‘em?” He dragged his eyes up to Bucky’s face, and tucked his bottom lip between his teeth. 

Bucky groaned and shrugged with one shoulder. “I dunno, titties? Thinkin’ bout what they look like under their slips.”

“Aw, jeez,” Steve whimpered, shivering into a ball, his head and knees curling in towards Bucky. 

“Yeah, attaboy,” Bucky said quietly, his voice wavering. 

Steve popped like a little shook up bottle of soda, with almost no warning and then a soft, surprised little _oh_. He kept his eyes closed for a long, quiet minute, while Bucky stroked himself real slow, just clinging on to the edge. When he opened them again, he looked stunned and awed, and he smiled shyly over at Bucky. 

“Guess it is more fun with two,” he whispered. The tip of his tongue nudged at his bottom lip, pushing at the inside of his mouth. “Did you, uh-”

Bucky shook his head. “Not -- not yet -- not quite--”

“Y’want me to help?”

There was no good answer to that either way, but before he could give one, Bucky moaned loud as he trembled and shot his load all over his belly. They’d both made a mess of the sheet between them, and Steve pawed at it with a wince, wiping off his fingers. “I better wash this in the mornin’.”

Bucky nodded, still shaking. “In th’mornin’.”

“Buck? Bucky, you awake?”

A little part of him sighed inside. It was 1943, and he was on a small, sagging camp bed in a bunkhouse in London. At least it was better than a trench. Steve was leaning over him, his massive bulk blocking out what little light there was, but he didn’t try to shake Bucky awake, so Bucky didn’t show that he was. 

“Ah, hell, we’ll talk later,” Steve muttered, “I gotta go salute and play nice.” He started to get up, and Bucky was about to roll over in bed, when Steve reached down and brushed the hair off his forehead with gentle fingers. 

When Dugan finally roused him out an hour or so later, Bucky was red-eyed and morose, and sore from the night before. 

"On your feet, kid," Dugan said sharply, stripping the covers off him and hauling back the thin curtain. "God, you stink like a French whorehouse." 

"That's Sergeant kid t'you, asshole," Bucky muttered, clambering out of the bed and going to the washstand. He groaned as he splashed some cold water on his face. He’d always managed to avoid hangovers in the past, back home, always to Steve’s annoyance. Some miracle of genetics, maybe his thick Irish blood, had always protected him in his drinking, letting him roll out of bed with a spring in his step and a song in his heart after a heavy night. Maybe he was getting old, going rotten at twenty-five, or maybe he’d left something behind in that miserable lab in Austria, but just then it felt like his head was gonna split in two. 

He reached for the rag of a towel on the edge of the washstand, but stretched too far and stumbled, slipping sideways onto the neat edge of Steve’s bed. 

“Woah, easy there, boy,” Dugan said gently, stepping up behind him and hauling Bucky up by his rank armpits. He hustled him back to his bed, sat him down on the edge of the mess of twisted sheets and rubbed his hand between Bucky’s shoulderblades. “Easy now. You gonna hurl?”

Bucky shook his head, but a moment later his stomach decided to prove him wrong, and he nodded quickly. Dugan grabbed the basin from the wash stand and tossed the contents out of the open window, before shoving it in front of Bucky just in time. 

“If you treated yourself half as well as you do that Captain of yours--" Dugan muttered, but Bucky glared at him with wet eyes over the rim of the bowl, and Dugan didn’t finish. He retched a couple more times, and Dugan rubbed his back through the whole show, whispering to him the way his mother might’ve when he got sick as a kid. Not that Bucky had been sick above half a dozen times in his life; that was Steve’s business. Or it had been. 

“Y’shoulda seen that kid back home,” he muttered, and paused to spit. “Just skin and bone, held together by a scowl.” He dragged his eyes up, away from the chipped edge of the ceramic bowl. Steve’s bed was as neat as a parcel; the military had done what Bucky and two Irish mothers had failed, and beaten some sense of order into Steve, if not a lot of it. He missed the sight of messy sheets more than he ought to. 

Dugan reached up to brush his sweaty hair back off his forehead. “You done yappin’? Huh? Think you can hold your stomach in now?”

Bucky nodded weakly, and Dugan prised the bowl from his arms. “Lay back down a minute,” he said, pushing on Bucky’s shoulder gently. “I’ll wash this out and we’ll get you presentable. Dunk you in the Thames if I hafta.”

“You’re a riot,” Bucky mumbled, and pushed his face into his pillow. Now that he was awake he could smell the smoke on it from his hair, the ripe stink of himself from drinking and fucking and hurling. He was more glad than he’d ever been that Steve wasn’t around to see the mess he’d made of himself. It was bad enough that Dugan was, and when he got back to the room, Bucky tried to tell him that he was grateful, he was, but if Dugan ever breathed a word of this, he’d bury him.

“You’d have to catch me first, Bucky,” Dugan said, grinning as he lifted Bucky’s head from the pillow and pushed a glass of water at him. “Come on, have some of this, you wanna wash that taste out of your mouth.”

Bucky wasn’t dumb; even feeling like the inside of a gutter, he got the sense that Dugan wasn’t just talking about the lingering taste of bile. He swilled his mouth out and spat in the bowl again when Dugan directed him to, then sipped a little more cold water and swallowed. It made his teeth and his head hurt, but it was different from the sick ache of the booze in his system, and it made him feel a little more awake.

“Alright, boyo, we’ll get you hosed down and stuffed into that pretty uniform, and you’re gonna forget all about this mess for a few hours, right?”

“Alright,” Bucky muttered, nodding dizzily. He pushed himself up from the bed, and Dugan helped him to the bathroom. 

A long hot shower, a hasty breakfast, and a stolen nap on a London bus later, and Bucky was feeling a little more like human. Falsworth and Dugan dragged him to Trafalgar Square and Buckingham Palace, and Bucky dared Dugan to moon the Queen. Once or twice he caught them looking at him sidelong, worrying so hard they were in danger of giving themselves hernias, and each time he noticed, he’d find something new to catch their interest, or a group of dames to charm with his smile. No matter that it didn’t come quite as easy as it had before; he’d practiced it enough times that it was easy to pretend. 

They dumped him back at his room in the middle of the afternoon. Falsworth said he was looking a little green around the gills, and Dugan promised to rouse him for dinner, but before he could shut the door in their faces, there was a familiar shout from the other end of the corridor. Dugan’s eyes went to Bucky, just for a second, before he and Falsworth were greeting the Captain with smiles and cheer and a barrage of questions about when in the hell they were shipping out, because those Nazis weren’t about to beat the tar out of themselves, now were they?

Waving them off with a promise to tell them more as soon as he’d ironed out the details with Phillips, Steve stepped into the room after Bucky, shutting the door behind them. 

“Never got to thank you for the digs, Cap,” Bucky said, stripping off his jacket. He was feeling weak and tired again, and he’d sweated right through his shirt. “No need for a celebrity like you to bunk up with me though, the boys’ll think I’m getting ideas above my station.”

“I never thought you of all people would treat me different, Buck.”

Bucky sighed heavily. He ached all over, and although his headache had submitted to the effects of coffee and dim English sunshine, his head still felt fuzzy and dense. Not to mention, after a day of walking around, sitting and standing up constantly, he was really feeling the effects of last night’s exertions. He only wished he could remember a little more of it. There was a grubby little apartment, he remembered that much; lots of whiskey, that was for sure. And he _knew_ , even just from the ache right up inside him, that he’d bent over for the guy. Steve would be disgusted. He leaned down with a wince to pull off his shoes, unknotted his tie, and slumped back onto the bed. “Well you _are_ different, Cap.”

Steve made a sound that was half-angry, half-devastated. “Stop _calling_ me that!”

“Fine, Steve, fine,” Bucky mumbled, crooking his elbow over his eyes to block out the light. “Keep it down, alright? I’m tryna enjoy my R’n’R.”

“Where’d you get to last night?” Steve asked, his voice taut and mean. Bucky risked a glance, and saw Steve sit down on the edge of that perfect parcel of sheets, massive shoulders hunched forward, the barrel of his chest disguised under the smart dress greens someone had scrounged up for him. He looked like a dream, though not one Bucky had ever had. “Bucky?”

“Met a friend,” Bucky said, covering his eyes again. “Lost track of time.”

“You lose track of the law too, Buck?”

Bucky snorted. “Dunno what you mean by that, pal, but that’s one pretty glass house you’re standing in with your pocket full of rocks.”

There was silence in the room for a moment, then Bucky nearly leapt out of his skin when Steve stood up and kicked Bucky’s bed so hard that it bounced off the wall and shook violently. He scrambled to sit up, eyes wide and his heart hammering in his throat, hands moving to defensive positions without him telling them to. For a moment, he and Steve stared at one another, Bucky breathing hard and trying not to panic, while Steve just looked stunned and horrified at what he’d done. 

“Bucky, I--” He reached out, his voice stumbling into nothing, and Bucky pulled out of reach with a scowl. “I’m sorry--”

“Forget it,” Bucky muttered, collapsing back against the metal bedhead. “Finally got the muscles to go with that temper of yours, didn’t you?”

“Buck, I didn’t mean--” Steve looked absolutely wretched, and he dropped to a crouch by Bucky’s bed, laid his hands on the edge of the mattress. “I’m sorry, I -- I know you’ve been through hell, I--”

“Nah,” Bucky interrupted, kept his voice casual as he could make it. “You know me, I bounce back.”

“Bucky-”

“Steve.”

Steve glared at him. “Last night? You think I’m an idiot? I saw who you left with.”

Something inside Bucky clenched up hard, and his fingers itched for a cigarette. “Then you saw me leave on my own.” He unbuttoned his left sleeve and scratched the back of his wrist. “You got any smokes?” Steve just looked at him, his face a picture, and Bucky sniggered. “Shoulda guessed.”

“If--” Steve faltered, and took a deep breath, looking away from Bucky’s face. “If you’re looking for an excuse to get back to Brooklyn, you don’t need to try so hard. You oughta be out of here anyway on medical, it’s my fault you’re still around.”

Bucky felt like Steve had socked him in the gut, especially when Steve looked up at him, his blue eyes wide, finally looking the right size for his face. It looked all wrong to Bucky. His mouth felt suddenly dry, and he wet his lips with his tongue. “An excuse?”

“Dishonorable discharge,” Steve said, and while the color rose on his face, he didn’t look away. 

“You’re barking up the wrong tree, Rogers.” Bucky turned away from him, slipping down onto his side and punching up the skinny pillow under his head. “Now, I got a head full of sawdust and the shakes for a cigarette, so why don’t you stop flapping your gums and let me sleep this off before we eat, capisce?”

Steve didn’t say anything, but Bucky heard the creak of the floorboards as he got up and stalked to the door. It slammed and rattled in its frame, and Bucky closed his eyes and tried to sleep. He was still lying there awake when Dugan came to fetch him an hour later. 

 

 

At the first scream of the air raid siren, Bucky went rigid in his seat. They had been relaxing after dinner, and Bucky had won a stack of smokes at poker. 

“Ah, hell,” Dugan muttered when the siren went off, throwing down his cards. He’d had nothing worth betting on anyway from the looks of it. “Time for us to get squared away,” he said, nodding towards the doorway. 

Bucky followed his gaze to where a couple of ARP folks were starting to get everyone out of their seats. It was a man and a woman, the latter short and stocky with a sharp, commanding voice, and Bucky’s gaze lingered on the other. He was average height, and weedy. Bucky wondered what had kept him back from the front, if maybe he wasn’t quite old enough yet, or if he had a laundry list of ailments like Steve. His eyes were drawn away by the familiar flash of blond hair in the hallway, and he craned his neck to see Steve standing there in furious discussion with Carter just outside the door. 

Falsworth followed his gaze and laughed out loud. “Oh dear, looks like our dear Captain’s got himself into a lover’s spat already.”

He was too far away to make out the words, but their voices were carrying into the mess room, both a little shrill and snide. Carter had her work cut out for her, taking that one under her command. Bucky couldn’t help himself, wasn’t sure if he wanted to eavesdrop or get in the middle of them before there was bloodshed, but he was out of his seat before he knew it. The boys’ voices followed him as he got up from the table, a scandalized groan when he laid down his abandoned full house (got by cheating), but he ignored them as he edged his way over to the door. 

“--not your place to do something about it!”

“With respect, Agent Carter, like _hell_ it isn’t.”

Peggy’s face was a picture, and a frightening one at that. Bucky really thought he had better step in, before Rogers got himself torn to pieces, and deserved it too. 

"Now now,” Bucky said smoothly, “there's no need to fight.” He caught a sharp look from Carter and smirked as he amended, “Ma'am.”

"Maybe _you_ can talk some sense into your friend, Sergeant Barnes," she said, still glaring at Steve while she spoke to him. "God knows he won’t listen to his superiors." 

"I'm surprised it didn't say 'problem with authority' on his medical records."

"Oh come on-" Steve grumbled, shooting him a look of utter betrayal.

"Believe me, its going on there." 

Bucky smirked. "So, what's he done this time?"

"It seems he's more creative than I ever gave him credit for. He's an untapped mine of stupid ideas."

"Peggy, you know I can't sit by--"

Bucky groaned, and they both looked at him. "What is it now, Rogers? Kitty stuck up a tree?"

Steve stared at him, looking weary and concerned. "Buck, you heard the siren, that means--"

"That means we get underground," Carter said stiffly. "Now."

"Peggy -- Agent Carter, if I--"

"Even you won't survive a German bomb, Rogers."

Steve let out a sigh of frustration that Bucky knew only too well. It sounded like he was getting ready to give up, but he was just changing his plan of attack. "What happened to 'I was meant for more than this'?" Steve said, low and calm, although Bucky recognized the rage hidden in his voice. 

Maybe Carter did too, because her expression and her tone both softened slightly as she shook her head. "This city has been dealing with the German strikes for months, Steve." _Steve_. "They have their roles, they know what they're doing. You'd only get in the way."

She glanced over at Bucky again. "See that he goes to the shelter with everyone else, would you, Barnes? Please."

"Yes ma'am," Bucky said, saluting her briskly, though inside he was raging at the implication that he wouldn't make it his first job to get Steve somewhere safe. 

Carter nodded at them both, before turning smartly and walking away, her footsteps as clipped as her accent. 

"I'm not going to that shelter," Steve muttered through gritted teeth. 

"That's right, pal." Bucky clapped him on the shoulder. "We're gonna get out there and do some good."

Bucky had been on the receiving end of Steve's skeptical look more times than he could count, so he did what he always did, which was to paste on a brilliant smile, and flash him a wink that could drop a girl's drawers at ten paces. "C'mon," he said, slinging his arm around Steve's neck, which was a stretch but it looked good, a sergeant palling it up with the Cap. It would be good for the boys to remember he was one of them. 

They joined the crowd of rowdy, off-duty soldiers, following the ARP personnel in the direction of their designated shelter. "I meant it, Bucky," Steve hissed when they were almost there. "I'm not-"

"Shut your pie hole for once, Rogers," he said through his smile. "We'll ditch the party in a minute." He grinned. "Unless you wanna take seven minutes of heaven in that closet with Agent Carter first?" Steve's mouth thinned, and he didn't reply. 

When the ARP starting herding them into the shelter itself, Bucky grabbed Steve's arm and tugged him out of line. 

" _You're_ not coming with me," Steve said, looking anxious. “Bucky, no, I just got you back-”

Bucky snorted. "The hell I'm not." He punched Steve in the shoulder, harder than he needed to, and wasn't surprised when he barely reacted. "You need someone watching that cute little ass. Someone might decide to use it for target practice."

"Don't tell me we need to get a third party to watch my virtue," Steve muttered, rolling his eyes at Bucky. 

"My dance card is plenty full without you muscling in."

Steve gave him a strange look. “Yeah, I got that.” It sent a shock of panic through Bucky, and he realised they'd never finished their conversation earlier, but Steve looked away just as quick, and the moment dissolved.

"So what exactly d'you plan to do out here? Catch the damn things and throw 'em back?"

"If you think it'll work," Steve said, scowling as he stepped away into the quiet street. "We'll go to the ARP office on the next street, see what we can do to help."

Bucky fell into step with him, and even he had to admit it was easier to match Steve's new loping gait than his old, awkward step, always slightly uneven thanks to his crooked spine. "I hate to say this, buddy, but Carter's probably right about this one." 

Steve swung round on him, and Bucky feinted away, putting up his hands and a grin. "Not gonna slug me, are ya? I hear you hit a lot harder now."

"I wasn't - I don't want to hit you, stupid." Steve pulled at the front of his uniform awkwardly, then shoved his hands in his pockets. "I know she's right, she's _always_ right, but I'd rather know I tried."

Bucky groaned. Some days he just couldn't believe this guy. "Ask me, you gotta start thinking less like a punk with nothing to lose and more like the guy in charge."

"Yeah, like you're the first to tell me that."

"Buddy, I've been trying to tell you that for years," Bucky said in a mutinous tone. "A pretty dame flutters her eyelashes and suddenly you're all ears."

Steve huffed. "Whatever your issue with Peggy is, you better drop it, before I really do sock you one."

"Sure that's a good idea? She ain't the damsel type." Bucky smirked. "Don't think she'd take too kindly to you brawling over her."

"Maybe it ain't about her," Steve said coldly. "You ever think it might be about you and your big mouth?"

Bucky forced himself to laugh. "Whatever you wanna do to my mouth, Rogers, punching ain't in it."

"Stop it."

Steve's voice trembled, and a glance told Bucky he was fit to spit nails, but they had stopped short right outside the volunteer station, and he bit his lip on whatever it was he wanted to say next. Bucky had always been a flirt, even with Steve. Especially with Steve. It had never taken them anywhere it shouldn't, but maybe that was just because Steve hadn't realized Bucky really meant it until now. 

He raised his eyebrows at Steve, nodded towards the door. "We goin' in?" 

There were three people in the office; an older man and two middle aged women, having a quiet discussion over cups of tea. They looked up in surprise when Steve walked in, and at first Bucky thought it was going to go about as well as Carter had predicted, but Steve could be pretty persuasive. In the end they gave in, only because they'd lost two volunteers the week before; one to the bombing, one to a heart attack. 

"Come down into the shelter then," said the man, who'd introduced himself as Harold. "You can help us with all these blessed lists, then once the all clear sounds, we'll search for survivors."

One of the women, Maggie, had taken a shine to Bucky, and Eileen said it was because Bucky reminded her of her husband, who’d been Irish, and a looker. Maggie nudged him with her elbow. "Make ‘em big in the States, don’t they? You boys’ll be a huge help." The look she gave him was positively feral, and Bucky started to laugh, but Steve's voice cut him off flat. 

"We already ducked one shelter tonight," he said, impatience creeping into his voice. "I didn’t come here to sit in a basement, I came here to help, to make a _difference._ ”

Maggie and Eileen exchanged a grim look, and Harold cleared his throat and reached out to put a hand on his shoulder.

"Son, even we don't go out while they're dropping the blessed bombs. What would be the point? Who could we help if we got ourselves killed first?"

"But--"

"Steve," Bucky said quietly. "They’re right. We should get underground.”

Steve shook his head, looking desperate. His breath was coming faster, making his big chest heave, and Bucky felt something tighten in his own chest in sympathy. Before he could say anything, Steve opened the door again and stormed out. Maggie and Eileen both called out after him, but he was already gone, and with a panicked backward glance, Bucky took off after him. Steve was already gone, striding off down the street, although at least he was going in the direction of the shelter from before, perhaps Bucky could--

His train of thought was interrupted by the rumble of a distant explosion, and Bucky went still. “Steve,” he said, but his voice came out much quieter than he’d intended, barely a whisper in the air, and the whisper was drowned out anyway by the faint drone of engines. Bucky picked up his feet and stumbled forwards. He felt drunk again, or hungover at the least; his head was buzzing, full of a rustling like radio static. There was shouting nearby, and he realized dumbly that he had to get back to his men. He came up hard against something, jarring his knees, and he looked around him in shock when he realized that he’d fallen onto his hands and knees. 

“Buck? God, are you alright? Bucky, can you hear me?” Strong hands grabbed him and hauled him upright, and Bucky tried to make the soles of his feet meet the ground, although he felt like he was at the wrong angle, listing off to the side. “Come on, Buck, put your arm around my neck, attaboy--”

“Dum Dum?” Bucky muttered, because he couldn’t think who else’d be getting him up out of the dirt like that. He didn’t remember getting hit, didn’t hurt anywhere except his knees, so he must’ve just stumbled. There was a loud rumbling far off that , then nearby, a shattering, crashing boom that made him yelp and clap his hands over his ears. “Where’s the artillery?” he yelled.

“The what? Bucky -- did you hit your head? C’mon, we gotta get inside--”

Bucky struggled a little against the strong arm around him, but it was easier to go where it took him. "Dum--"

"Try again," the voice said, sounding annoyed. And _that_ , he knew.

"Steve," Bucky said, grabbing for him. "Stevie, you ain't s'posed to be here, kiddo--"

Steve groaned and charged him sideways into the empty mouth of a doorway. Bucky's back hit the door hard, knocking the breath out of his lungs, so that he didn't have time to yell before the impact. When he came to, he was on the ground, a massive weight crushing him, and he tried to resist the urge to panic.

"Steve--" he gasped.

The weight lifted, and he drew in a sharp breath of relief. "Buck?" Steve rolled off him, then reached down and touched his head, his neck, felt along his arms.

"'m fine, Steve, get off," Bucky grumbled. He pushed himself to his hands and knees. "Wha'happened?"

"Bomb hit, I think. Couple of blocks over." Steve was half covered in soot, his face grim and miserable. "We shouldn't have come out, I--"

"Save it. We gotta get back to the shelter."

Steve shook his head. "Too far." He looked around, and his expression set into a determined grimace. "Come on." He grabbed Bucky's upper arm and dragged him across the street. There was a set of steps leading down, and Steve shouldered open the stiff door at the bottom open with as much effort as sliding a hot knife through butter. Hesitating a moment to tilt his head to the sky, Steve pushed Bucky inside and shoved the door shut behind them.

"It's an apartment," Bucky said, squinting at the dark hallway.

"It's a basement," Steve said. He stalked through into the next room. The living room and kitchen were one, and he overturned the sofa and the kitchen table, and pulled Bucky down into the makeshift shelter at the side of the room. From outside came the sound of bombs whistling down from the sky, the hum of more planes droning overhead, and the arrhythmic crash and roar of explosions rocking the city.

"Kinda like being a kid again, huh, Rogers?" Bucky muttered. A shattering crash nearby, though not as close as the one they'd already felt, shook some plaster from the ceiling, and he shook his head to get the dust out of his eyes. It was nothing like being a kid, not really, but the old Steve would know what he meant; Bucky used to run over to Steve's place whenever his parents started fighting, and he and Steve would shut the curtains and crawl under Steve's bed, then lie together in the half darkness.

"And we still can't kick your parents' asses for yelling at each other," Steve muttered.

Bucky laughed a little, then cut himself off, startled at the noise he'd made. It wasn't anything like a normal laugh; it sounded broken and wrong, maybe because he'd forgotten to pretend to laugh like a real person. Or maybe it was because he was crying. He wasn't aware of it until he coughed and found phlegm in his throat. It was black in the apartment, even more so hidden inside their fortress, so it was hard to tell when there was nothing to look at, but his eyes were blurry with tears.

Steve shuffled closer. "Can I--" Bucky flinched when Steve's hand touched his shoulder. The touch seemed to come out of nowhere. Steve pulled his hand back right away, but Bucky reached up to grab it. He pushed it back against his shoulder and felt Steve's fingers dig into his flesh, thumb settling near his collarbone.

His chest reared up with a gasp, because in the darkness, surrounded by all that wretched noise and horror, all he could see was the black mud of the trenches; the lightning-strike suddenness of a night lit by artillery fire; the shattered limbs of a man he'd known at Camp McCoy. And then he was back in Hydra's cell, crouched on the floor with nine other men.

_"You, with the red hair. You'll come with us." The scientist pointed at Halloran, and the guards started forward. Bucky stood up, putting himself between them and the kid._

_"No. Take me."_

_"Sarge--" Private Halloran looked up at him with wild eyes. “ **Don’t.** ”_

_The scientist eyed Bucky. "I am looking for someone young. Malleable. He will suit nicely."_

_Bucky snorted, letting his easy confidence come to him. "You ask me, he's too young. Take me. I'm not still in diapers, and I’m not gonna topple over in a stiff breeze. I'm strong, I can follow orders."_

_"What is your name?"_

_"Sergeant James Barnes. 32557038."_

_The man smirked. "Very well. Take him."_

_His eyes widened as the guards advanced on him, weapons drawn._

"Bucky! _Bucky_."

Bucky opened his eyes with a gasp. Steve was crouched over him, holding Bucky's face between his hands. "Steve," he muttered, "I'm here, I'm sorry, I'm sorry--"

"No, no, don't--”

Steve leaned forwards, putting his arms around Bucky and pulling him in for a crushing hug. It felt wrong, painfully wrong. Bucky didn't deserve to be held, didn't _want_ to be held by this man that was, and wasn't, Steve. He tried to push him away, but Steve made a noise of protest and hung onto him tighter.

"Please," he hissed, "Bucky, _please_ , stop pushing me away."

"I'm fine, Steve," he insisted, even though his voice sounded like cracked glass and a chest full of pneumonia. He struggled again, pushing ineffectually at Steve's arms, so much stronger than his own. "I don't need this, you don't gotta look after me."

"Screw you, Buck," Steve growled. He was shaking, Bucky noticed much too late. It wasn't just him; Steve was shaking too, shivering the way he did when winter took New York in its arms, and they had to huddle together under every blanket they owned to keep warm. "You think – you think you're the only one who's fucking lost anything?"

Bucky froze. Steve was gripping him so tight that it was hard to breathe, but in the darkness, he could almost pretend that things weren't different. They could almost be back under Steve's bed, Steve clutching him as tight as he could with his skinny arms. Maybe the stuttering breath on his neck was from Steve's asthma, riled up by the dusty floorboards; maybe the noise outside was just their neighborhood, trundling by the same way it always did; maybe the mass of flesh pressed against him could be the same slender, shivery bundle of sticks that made his breath catch and his heart hammer in his throat.

"What're we doin' here, Stevie?" he whispered.

Steve finally pulled back a little, but he didn't take his hands from Bucky, kept a tight hold on his wrists. “I can’t -- I can’t do that again, Buck,” he said. “I don’t want anyone to get hurt at all, not when I could -- when I _should_ have done something to stop it ever happening in the first place.”

"This is about me?" he asked, wonder making his eyes go wide in the dark. "Steve, you couldn't've stopped it happening--"

"Yes I _could_ ," Steve yelled, and Bucky flinched again. Steve smoothed his hands over Bucky's arms, soothing. When he spoke again, it was softer, but resentment and self-loathing still boiled under the surface. "I could, Bucky. I was on that – that _stupid_ tour, for _months_. I should've fought harder to get out here, I should've been there for you--"

Bucky wrenched his hands free and grabbed Steve by his shoulders. "Shut up, Steve. You shut the _hell_ up. If I wasn't dead in that place by now, I'd be _worse_ than dead, and I'm here now 'cause of you."

"Bucky--"

Steve's voice came out so soft and small, Bucky had to smile. He sounded young and frightened, and Bucky was just thinking of something to say to make him smile when Steve leaned in towards him. Bucky could feel Steve's breath on his face, and Steve's hand touched his knee, then his chest, spreading out over his heart.

"Stevie--"

"You're not the only one," Steve whispered, as he leaned in closer and kissed the corner of Bucky's mouth.

Bucky should've reeled back, should have told Steve no, but he wasn't strong enough anymore, if he ever had been. "What about--"

"I want this," Steve murmured, cutting him off before he could finish the question. He brushed his fingers through Bucky's hair, his touch tentative and gentle. "I want _you_. Please?"

Bucky moaned and grabbed Steve by the lapels of his jacket. "Ask me again," he whispered, "say please again."

"Please," Steve gasped, his mouth so close to Bucky's that he could taste Steve's breath. "Please, Bucky, please – I've missed you so much, oh god, I hate this, I hate that you can't even look at me, I'd give anything to go back – I don't even care how much it hurts." He broke off, sobbing, and pawed at Bucky’s jacket. “I used to hurt all the time, all the _time_ , Bucky, but I’d go back to it in a second if you’d just look at me again--”

Bucky hauled him forward by his jacket and kissed him. It took them a few seconds of trial and error to line up right, to put their mouths together like pieces of a puzzle. It was still soft, uncertain, but Bucky could feel Steve's heartbeat under his fist, quick but steady. Steve's fingers ran through his hair again, and down the side of his neck, making him shiver. "Stevie--" Bucky moaned, loosening his grip and slipping his hands down to Steve's hips. He rubbed his lips against Steve's, and he was surprised when a sob loosened its claws from his chest and crawled up his throat. 

“What,” Steve murmured, pulling back, holding his face like a small, wounded thing. “Bucky, what’s wrong? Should I not--”

Bucky never said never. He just wasn’t the type. Okay, so he hadn’t quite found the right moment, if there was a right moment, to say, _"Hey, Steve, I'm a little queer, and I think it's got a whole lot to do with you, wanna give this a go?"_ but he'd always kept it in the back of his mind. When he watched Steve bent over his drawings, urging on the crick in his neck; when Steve danced, awkward and self conscious: Bucky had always thought, one of those funny little moments when he looked at Steve and saw every bright bit of the world he knew in one place, that one of those times he'd be brave enough to put his hands on Steve's slim shoulders and bend down to kiss his chapped mouth. 

No, he'd never said never, not until Steve came back for him, a hundred pounds heavier and eight inches taller. Now, even his lips were soft and smooth, still pretty like a dame's, but not the smart little mouth he'd thought about touching a hundred times. Never was now, and Bucky reeled at the realization: he'd missed his chance. He’d spent half his life aching for thin wrists and a pigeon chest and ribs that he could feel when Steve hugged him, and now the Steve he’d loved was as good as dead. 

“I miss you,” Bucky whimpered, turning his face into Steve’s palm. His hands hadn’t changed, at least not as much as the rest of him. “I miss home.”

Steve slipped his arms around Bucky again, not crushing him this time, but holding him firm. “We’ll go back, they’ll give us some leave. We can visit Brooklyn, eat a burger, take a walk in Prospect Park--”

“No, Stevie.” Bucky shook his head viciously, pushing his face into Steve’s neck. He even smelled different, but there was a hint, a trace of the old him in there. “If -- if I go home, I don’t think I could make myself come back again.”

“Then we won’t come back--”

Bucky pushed him away, hard. “Stop it.” He could feel Steve hovering close in the darkness, and was glad he couldn’t see his face. “You really tryin’ to tell me that after all this time, all the shit you pulled to get yourself into his stupid excuse for a war in the first place, that you could ever be happy with packing up your bags and going home?” The silence settled between them, and Bucky huffed. “Yeah, thought not.”

“Bucky, I--”

“It’s okay,” Bucky said quietly. “You know I’m not -- I ain’t goin’ anywhere, not without you.” He reached out for Steve in the darkness, and by chance found one of his hands. He grabbed onto it tight. “If you’re staying, I’m staying.”

They sat awake for a while longer, Bucky couldn't have said how long, leaned in towards each other with their backs to the wall, their makeshift barricade shuddering occasionally over their heads with a distant impact. Eventually, Bucky dozed for a while, his head tucked into Steve’s shoulder. 

He woke again with a start when Steve shifted underneath him, and he realised from the grey light that it must be almost dawn. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled, shrinking away from Steve’s heat. "Didn't mean to sleep."

Steve reached up carelessly and stroked his fingers through Bucky's hair, from his temples back to the nape of his neck. 

Bucky stiffened and shrugged him off, wiping the haze of too little sleep out of his eyes. "Stevie--" he muttered, and cursed himself when the pet name slipped out instead of _Rogers_ , "I don't think we oughta--"

"How're you feeling?"

Bucky glanced away. "Just peachy, kiddo."

"Wait here a minute. I'm gonna look for some food." Steve started to scramble out of their hiding spot. "Pretty sure you were in shock last night, you'll need to eat something soon."

Bucky got up when Steve had gone, and stretched out his aching muscles. It didn't do much good. He needed a hot bath, maybe for about a month, although he knew even that wasn't likely to wash everything away. 

"There's some canned soup," Steve called out from the kitchen. "I can't get the gas started though."

"We can eat it cold." Bucky went to run his fingers through his hair and winced when he found it grimy and full of plaster dust. His clothes were a wreck too. "You don't think they'll mind us eating up their rations?"

"Nobody's been here in a few weeks," Steve said simply.

Now that it had been pointed out, Bucky realized the cold mildew smell was more than just the lingering scent of being underground, and even without the plaster, everything had a thin layer of dust. Steve had always been perceptive, but now that he had perfect hearing, perfect vision, he could pick up on a million things Bucky never would have. 

They ate the tins of soup in silence, and if it wasn't much better than army slops, at least it wasn't any worse. When they were done, they found there was still running water, so they washed their hands and faces, and Bucky swilled out the rancid taste in his mouth.

“Bucky,” Steve said hesitantly, “I’m gonna--”

“I know, Steve,” Bucky said, drying his hands on a stranger’s towel. “We’re going out to help, I know. You think I ain’t the same schmuck you dragged around Brooklyn like a puppy on a leash? It’s the right thing to do, so let’s go do it.”

 

 

When they first staggered out into the street, nothing looked much different, but as they headed back in the direction of the ARP station from the previous night, they quickly lost their way. The street had been turned into a crater, a whole row of terraced houses flattened. The ARP station was a pile of rubble, sheets of corrugated iron twisted up like a curl of butter scraped up on a fancy knife. 

“You think--”

Steve trailed off when he saw the look on Bucky’s face, and his mouth set in a grim line. “Right. I’m -- gonna see if I can find anything.”

Bucky would’ve talked anyone else out of it, but Steve could move the rubble faster than anyone else, with a hell of a lot less trouble. Someone had casually mentioned that Steve could bench ]press over 2000lb now, and watching him work, Bucky could believe it. It took them about half an hour to work their way down to the small ARP shelter. It wasn’t very big, or very deep. Maggie, Eileen and Harold were all very dead. 

Steve dropped to his knees in the dirt. Bucky felt bad for him, but he couldn’t seem to feel bad for himself. He couldn’t even feel bad for Eileen or Harold, or Maggie who’d liked him because he reminded her of her dead husband. It ought to feel different: worse, somehow, seeing people - civilians - murdered in their homes, on their home turf, but he couldn’t feel like it was all that different to the men who’d fought and died at his side overseas, and all across the entire goddamned continent. He put his hand on Steve’s shoulder, felt him shaking with the held-in need to cry, or scream, or maybe just hurl his guts up in the street. Bucky had been there, though it seemed like decades ago now. 

“C’mon,” he said gently, urging Steve to stand. Steve clung to him as they made their way back down the street to the first shelter, the one they’d refused. His face was dry, but he did look like he might puke any minute. 

“That was gonna be us, Buck,” he whispered, when they’d walked a little way. “If I -- shit, I almost got you killed _again_.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Been puttin’ up with that my entire life, buddy.”

They spent the rest of the morning helping out with the rescue and cleanup operation. Everyone was glad to see Steve there, even before he showed off his rippling pecs, because he was calm and commanding and got people organized. Bucky tagged along and helped where he could, dragging people out of wreckage or carrying out the basic first aid he’d learned, first from Mrs Rogers, and then from a medic named Preston. By the time they were done, it was almost noon, and they were not-so-gently urged to go home, clean up and _rest_. 

Steve, of course, wanted to check in with everyone first. They’d run into one or two familiar faces over the morning, and by the time they dragged themselves back, everyone had assembled raggedly. 

“Captain Rogers!”

Carter, obviously. Bucky’s shoulders went rigid, and he noticed that Steve’s did the same, maybe even worse than his own. Carter just had a voice that could pull a man to attention whether he liked it or not. Steve cast him a desperate look, but Bucky just shrugged and smirked at him, shaping his mouth into a smile that didn't mean a thing. He turned away to look for something to distract him with, so he wouldn't have to watch Steve talk to her. Watching Steve talk to women was painful enough in any case and always gave him a bad case of second hand embarrassment. Watching him talk to Carter was like watching a particularly bold mouse face down a cat.

"Anyone ever tell you you're like a cockroach?"

Bucky turned gratefully to the sound of Dugan's voice, and accepted the easy hand on his shoulder. "Only the girls that caught me," he said, leaning into the touch. "My ma used to say I had nine lives like a cat."

"What we're going back to, better hope that's true." He drew Bucky aside a little, and Bucky took the chance to look him over. Dugan looked as tired as everyone else; it had obviously been a long night in the shelter, and a long morning too. Still, he looked a lot better than he had when they crawled out of Austria. Dugan glanced over at Steve and Carter, and gave Bucky a piercing look. "You two sort things out?"

Bucky shrugged. "You could say that."

"Things settled between those two?" Dugan muttered, looking at Steve again and raising his eyebrows. 

Against his better judgement, Bucky looked over. At least Carter wasn't yelling this time. As he watched, she drew Steve aside, out into the corridor, and reached up to pull his head down into the crook of her neck. Steve's shoulders shook, and he hesitated for a long moment before putting his arms around her. It didn't make Bucky feel as sick as he'd expected, but he looked quickly away from the sight of them in a clinch. 

"You look as green as I did on that ferry."

Bucky scowled at Dugan. "Shut it."

"Don't worry, kid. He ain't runnin' out on you just yet."

"Who's worrying?" Bucky said, shrugging.

"You're as nervous as a cat at a barn dance. Carter ain't stepping on your tail, she's got more important things to do than that boy of yours, like win a war for one thing."

Bucky nodded absently. In the hallway, Steve and Carter pulled away from each other, brisk and businesslike once more. She patted his chest and he set his shoulders, straightening his fine back, then she brushed her hair aside and turned on her heel.

"I like her," Bucky said, when Steve walked back in, more composed but still looking drained. "She knows how to handle your stupid stubborn ass."

"She tries. I don't think they trained her for Steve Rogers."

"Pal, the entire world wasn't ready for you." He smiled, a real one this time, and reached out to brush some dirt off Steve's shoulder. "But I like her a whole hell of a lot more for tryin'."

"Thanks, Bucky," Steve said quietly, looking like his heart might break.

Bucky laughed. Now that he'd remembered how, it was easier to make it come, even if he didn't really feel it. "You're a sap, Captain America."

"C'mon, Buck," Steve said, giving him arm a gentle tug. That was all it took to drag Bucky into his orbit. Despite his exhaustion, he still needed urgently to be in Steve's space, to touch him again before he woke up and found out it was a dream.

But Steve didn't lead him back to the boarding house, turning him instead the other way down the street. Bucky looked up at him curiously. "You forget your way, pal?"

Steve's jaw tightened. "We're goin' somewhere else. So we can sleep this off properly, and - well."

He stopped speaking and Bucky was a little delighted to see him blush. "Rogers, are you sneaking me out to a hotel? You know I didn't pack my red stockings."

"Shut it," Steve said, grinning as he reached over to cuff Bucky's ear, then slip the arm around his shoulders. He had a strange expression, like he was trying something he didn't expect to like the taste of, but it felt nice to Bucky, so he smiled and leaned in against Steve's chest.

They walked to a small, fancy looking hotel about a mile away. "The army payin' for this?" Bucky asked under his breath, while Steve went up the steps. 

"Only as much as they're paying me to fight for them."

"Bet they were falling over themselves to line your pockets after Austria."

Steve shook his head. "Line my chest maybe, but Stark stood me some cash. His way of showing his appreciation I guess." Steve looked annoyed about it, which made sense if he'd been talked into taking money from someone. Guy couldn't even take a cup of coffee without it resulting in some kind of life debt. 

"Stark?"

"Howard Stark. You'll probably meet him."

" _The_ Howard Stark? Are you outta your damn mind?"

Steve smiled. "Someone's told me so once or twice."

Bucky hovered while Steve quietly conferred with the woman on the front desk. For the first time, he started to feel anxious. He always wondered if half the fun of doing this was the risk of getting caught, but that wasn't it. Not with Steve anyway. To his surprise though - well, a _little_ surprise - she just waved them upstairs with a stern look. She didn't look mean or unfriendly though; she reminded Bucky a little of his mother, and he tried to force that thought away. His ma had always known he was a bit of a rogue, but she'd always said he didn't have any real bad qualities but what Steve Rogers talked him around to. He didn't like the thought of her knowing just how right she was. 

The room Steve took them to wasn't big, but it was soft and cosy looking, more luxury than Bucky had seen in a long, long time. He took off his boots and put them by the door, not wanting to make more mess of the smart room than he had to. Steve did the same, and they stood there awkwardly, a few feet apart.

"You sure?" Steve whispered, taking a couple of steps over to him.

It wasn't fair to laugh at him, but Bucky couldn't help it. They were here, they'd paid for the room already, and if they didn't do it now, it was never going to happen. Steve looked a little hurt when Bucky started to laugh, but a moment later his expression softened and he smiled and reached out for him. "I missed you laughing at me," he confessed, small and defiant. "God, Bucky, you ain't hardly looked at me all week, I'm dying over here."

"You look alright to me," Bucky said, letting Steve pull him into his arms. "Better than alright."

Steve sniggered and Bucky pulled him closer by his tie. "Bucky-"

"Uh huh?" Bucky muttered, already leaning in to breathe in Steve's half-remembered smell. It wasn't quite as different as he'd thought it was.

"I - this ain't the first time I did this."

Jealousy settled in Bucky's stomach, but he knew he didn't have any right to it, not with even half the things he'd done. Anyway, he was trying not to be jealous. It didn't help anyone. "That so, pal?" he said, smiling as he tugged Steve forward by his tie. "Maybe you can show me a trick or two."

Steve came into the kiss easy, but he didn't stay that way. He brought his hands up to cup Bucky's face, the same way he had the night before, like he wanted to stop him running away, or maybe like he wanted to shut out everything around them. Maybe it was a little bit of both, but Bucky didn't have any intention of turning tail on this, and there was a locked door between them and the rest of the world, at least for a few hours.

"Buck," he whined between kisses, "Bucky-"

It made Bucky smile reluctantly, but it also sent a flush of need shivering down his spine, and he tentatively pushed his tongue into the open mouthed kiss. Steve moaned loudly and Bucky took the invitation to lick the roof of his mouth just behind his perfect teeth, to nudge at Steve's tongue with his own.

"C'mon," Bucky muttered, moving Steve's hands to his chest. "I waited long enough, now get those big paws on me before someone comes knockin'."

Steve was at least as impatient as he was, and in his haste to get Bucky out of his jacket, he pulled too hard and Bucky heard an ominous ripping sound as several buttons popped off and skittered across the floorboards.

"Damn," Steve whispered, "sorry."

Bucky shrugged. He'd catch hell later - or would he, without a CO? - but for now it didn't seem to matter. He unfastened the rest of the buttons himself, while Steve made short work of removing his own jacket, and tossed it on the floor with Bucky's. He reached for the hem of his shirt to pull it over his head, but Steve reached out to stop him. "Wait, let me?"

"Sure, but you're replacing anything you break."

Steve gave him a kind of stern smile and reached down to take hold of Bucky's shirt. He kissed him slow as he worked it out of his pants, then tugged it up along with his undershirt, waiting while Bucky obediently raised his arms, before pulling the garments over his head. Steve came in to kiss him again as soon as his head was free, and his hands moved down to sit, shy and uncertain, just above Bucky's hips.

"You can touch me if you want," Bucky said, and grinned when Steve whimpered and bit at his bottom lip. "Anywhere you like."

Steve was gentle at first, his fingers light and almost reverent as he stroked over Bucky's prominent ribs and traced up and down his spine. It was exactly how Bucky had always imagined Steve would be, at first, but he knew Steve inside out, and he just _knew_ it wouldn't take much to get him really riled up. He turned his head so Steve's mouth caught his jaw, and he tucked his face into Steve's neck. "You can do better than that," he whispered, and nuzzled up against the soft skin below Steve's right ear. "C'mon, Stevie--"

Steve moaned, wretched and needy, and muffled the sound with his teeth in Bucky's neck while he grabbed at him, hard enough to bruise. "Bucky--" he said, and his voice came out a long, whispering breath.

"Why don't you show me what you're hiding under all those pretty clothes, sweetheart?" Bucky murmured, slipping his hand around Steve's waist. If it was even possible, Bucky thought he has even less fat on him now than before; now he was a neat, lean cut, where before he'd been nothing but gristle.

"Don't -- don't talk to me like I'm just some other screw, Bucky," Steve muttered, while Bucky started tugging his shirt loose. "I know you think I'm different but I ain't, I'm still me in here, it's all just -- just window dressing."

Bucky kissed him just to make him stop. "I know, Steve. I know that. Only you'd be dumb enough to take on the Luftwaffe on your own." He got Steve out of his clothes while he huffed and protested, _Bucky, they made me this way so I could help people_ , and _no Stevie, they made you this way so you could kill people_.

"Bucky--"

"You wanna argue or you wanna screw?"

Steve grinned at him. "Little of both?"

Rolling his eyes, Bucky pulled him in close again. "Smartass." He nipped at Steve's neck, and found that he tasted of grit and blood. He hummed thoughtfully. "You think they got hot water?"

Steve kissed the side of his neck, and Bucky tried to hide his shiver. "Only one way to find out."

Turned out they did, and the bathroom was almost as big as the bedroom, with a huge, claw-footed tub. Steve filled it up about two thirds, until the water started to run cold again, and nudged Bucky not-so-gently towards it. "You first," he said. "We're too big to double up now."

"You ain't subtle, Rogers. Not at all." Still, it had been a long time since Bucky had had a hot bath, and he ditched his underwear and climbed in without complaining. "There's even soap," he said, grinning over his shoulder at Steve. "This is one classy establishment you've brought us to, pal. I'm impressed."

"Yeah, well, someone recommended it."

Bucky closed his eyes as he sank into the water. "Mary, Mother of God, that feels good." He opened them again and looked over. "Let me guess, Falsworth."

Steve's eyes widened. "You mean Falsworth is--"

"No no, I mean – I'm not sure, but – you know what, forget it."

"You two haven't--"

" _No_ , Steve," Bucky said with a groan. "But for the love of God, don't start asking me who I have and haven’t with. I guarantee you don't wanna know." Steve sighed, apparently content to let it drop, and Bucky lay back in the water. "Hang on," Bucky said a moment later, “If it wasn't him, then who--"

The guilty look on Steve's face froze him stiff, and he felt that bolt of fear go through him again. He sat up quick. "Stevie, who?"

"Peggy," Steve said, looking away from him. "We – she knows how I feel about you. She's known since the night I came to get you out."

"Shit." Bucky hunched over in the water and put his face in his hands. "Christ, I wasn't ready for _that_."

"She won't say anything."

Bucky laughed, quiet and bitter. "I believe that. Why would she want anyone to know that the guy she's crushing on--" He stopped himself from talking, looking guiltily over at Steve. He expected an earful, but Steve just shook his head sadly.

"I know. I thought she'd hate me, but she was real decent about it. And she said she woulda kept it quiet even if wasn't for me being – you know, Captain America and all that jazz. Real decent."

"There's one scandal the army can't afford."

Steve snorted. "Think of the headlines. 'America, Not Ameri _queer_!' Christ, they'd have a field day."

"You'd be a national disgrace," Bucky said with a chuckle, leaning back in the tub. It was easier to make a joke of it, and they both knew it.

"Like I wasn't already."

"Nah, just a disgrace to your best friend. I hear that guy puts up with all kinds of crap."

"I bet."

Steve crouched down beside the tub and slipped his hand into the water. His fingertips brushed against Bucky's hip, his touch gentle and comforting, just a reminder that he was there. "Don't worry," he said when Bucky cracked an eye open and gave him a sidelong look. "I won't try anything."

Bucky shrugged. "Try whatever you like." He slid down in the water, ducking his whole head underneath it. Being in the hot water felt almost as good as sex. He felt Steve's hand on his stomach; a gentle, curious touch. It didn't get him hard, which was just a travesty, but it still made his stomach lurch, which felt good all the same. He broke the surface and wiped the water out of his eyes. Steve was watching him with a dopey look on his face, and his warm, crooked smile was just right.

"Hey," he said, reaching out to smooth Bucky's left eyebrow in place with his thumb. "I know you."

"You oughta know me by now, ya sap," Bucky said, smirking.

Steve just kept on smiling his dopey smile. "Yeah."

After he'd relaxed a little while, and scrubbed himself as clean as he could, he climbed out to let Steve take his turn. Steve didn't take nearly as long, even though the water was still plenty warm when Bucky tapped out. Bucky didn't sit and splash around with him like Steve had, but he hung around in the bathroom, the towel slung on his hips while he brushed his teeth – the woman at the desk had given them toothbrushes and powder – and combed through his hair in the mirror.

"You're just as vain as ever, Barnes," Steve observed, from where he sat in the grimy water. "You goddamn heartbreaker."

"I'll have you know, Rogers, girls line up around the block to have their hearts broken by Bucky Barnes," he said, doing something suggestive with his eyebrows that made Steve giggle.

"Fellas too?"

Bucky shrugged, and went back to examining himself in the mirror. "Sure, sometimes fellas too. But it's different than with dames, you know that."

"I guess," Steve said, still watching him carefully. "Would you come over here?"

With a slow, flirty smile, Bucky pulled the towel from around his neck and draped it over the rack as he crossed the room to the tub. He crouched down right where Steve had, and leaned in close. "What's your poison, Stevie?"

Steve stared at him for a moment, his bottom lip caught between his teeth at an angle, a look that Bucky knew so well he could've drawn it, and he was no draftsman. "I dunno what to call it," Steve said, reaching for him slowly. "But I guess it tastes a little like arrogance, a little like whiskey--" Bucky started to laugh, and let Steve pull him close as he kept talking, his voice getting low and rough, "a little like a Catholic upbringing--"

"Aw, jeez--"

Before Bucky could complain, Steve kissed him again. He cupped Bucky's head in his hands and slid rough fingers through Bucky's damp hair, pressing against his scalp. It felt good, grounding him there in the room with Steve, and he let out a breathless laugh. Steve smiled, mouth curling against his, and they hovered for a long moment, just breathing hot over each other's lips.

"You gonna get outta that tub?" Bucky whispered, trailing his fingertips over Steve's chest, and flicking at one of his nipples.

Steve grinned against his mouth. "Yes sir." He started to pull his hands back, but Bucky caught one of his wrists and brought Steve's hand to his mouth. Steve watched him, eyes very wide, as Bucky bit down gently on the web of skin between his thumb and index finger. "Bucky-" he whispered, but his voice broke into a moan when Bucky rubbed his tongue along Steve's thumb, then pulled his index finger into his mouth. "Oh god, Bucky-" Steve was panting already, and it thrilled Bucky that he could get Steve so worked up, so easy. He teased at Steve's knuckle with his teeth, then sucked hard on the whole length of his finger.

"Wait," Bucky said, pulling his hand away and moving it back to his hair. "Don't get out just yet."

Without saying anything, Steve nodded slowly, his eyes still fixed on Bucky's mouth. Bucky reached down to adjust himself through his towel, and was a little surprised that he still wasn't really hard, almost not at all. He guessed he was just tired. His body would catch up in a minute. He slipped his other hand down, under the water, and smiled when Steve's prick all but jumped into the curl of his palm.

"You after something, Rogers?"

Steve whimpered, his eyes closing as he tipped his head back against the side of the bath. "Buck, God, Bucky, you don't know how long I've wanted this--"

Bucky pushed himself up so he could lean over and get his teeth into the side of Steve's neck. He was trembling, but he took a firmer grip on Steve's dick and hoped he wouldn't notice. "Well you got it now, as much as you can handle."

With a groan, Steve thrust up into his fist. "I can handle a _lot_ , Bucky, whatever you throw at me--" _Of course you can, pal_ , Bucky thought to himself, rolling his eyes. "How much can _you_ handle?"

"Uh huh, you like to talk big, Rogers," Bucky said, giving him another squeeze, before stroking him slow and gentle. 

"Kiss me," Steve whined, tugging on his hair. Bucky laughed and went where he was told, surprised and delighted when Steve's tongue thrust into his mouth without waiting for a hello. Bucky sucked on the tip of his tongue, and Steve moaned into his mouth. Bucky felt him tremble, shuddering suddenly, and his hips jerked forwards against Bucky’s hand. "Sorry, god, sorry," Steve muttered, turning his head away. "Damn--"

"Holy shit," Bucky murmured, as he felt Steve's prick pulsing against his palm. "You still go off like a shook up soda bottle."

"Do not," Steve muttered, and he probably would've been scowling if his face wasn't occupied looking stupid. He looked down at the mess floating in the water and winced. "Jeez, I'm sorry, Bucky. I didn't mean to"

Bucky shushed him. "Pal, I take it as a compliment."

Steve was blushing. "I can go again, I – Christ, Bucky, it ain't gonna be a problem, not when I can finally get my hands on you."

"I hope not," Bucky says, grinning. "C'mon, let's get you outta there."

They dried off in the bathroom, Bucky rubbing Steve's hair dry while they kissed lazily. Steve's breath was a little sour, but that was another thing the serum had improved; his acid used to give him rotten breath some days, but with all his ailments fixed, that had apparently gone away too. Still, Steve was apparently aware he could've tasted sweeter, because he pushed Bucky away and reached over for the unused toothbrush. "You go siddown, I'll be along in a second."

Bucky didn't wanna go, not when he could lean in the doorway and watch Steve. It was fascinating to look at him, the first time seeing him naked in this new body. Strange when he'd known every twist and bump of Steve before, to have to relearn something he thought he'd always know. He ran his eyes from Steve's massive shoulders, down the perfect roll of his spine to his ass, and then down his strong, slim legs.

Steve spat and looked at him in the mirror. "Like what you see?"

"If you mean Steve Rogers, yeah. Always liked looking at that."

To his delight, Steve blushed again. "You're an idiot."

Bucky caught him as he tried to storm past, and nuzzled his face into Steve's throat. It was still Steve. He had to keep telling himself that. Bucky had never gone for big guys, but then most of the guys he'd met with lots of muscles tended to be short on brains. Steve may have lacked the sense to stop himself getting killed, but he wasn't dumb, and knowing the self-righteous punk inside that sack of meat made it easier to want him the way he used to.

They moved slowly into the bedroom, tiptoeing towards the bed as they shuffled in each other's arms, almost like slow dancing. It wasn't quite kissing, what they were doing; they explored each other with their mouths and their fingertips, their hands and wrists, tongues and teeth. Steve was already getting hard again against his hip, and while Bucky's guts felt weak and hot from touching Steve, there was absolutely zilch going on between his legs.

They bumped against the bed, and Steve sat down with a start. He laughed at himself, then reached out for Bucky, who hung back.

"Bucky?" Steve's eyebrows crumpled in concern, and his eyes flicked down to Bucky's crotch. _Shit_ , he'd noticed.

"Just -- don't say it, Steve. Don't say anything."

Steve's face did something that was probably hilarious as he warred with himself over sympathy and not pissing Bucky off, but Bucky wasn't in any mood to laugh. "Buck--"

"I said shut it."

"For the love 'a god, Bucky, as if you're the only guy who ever had a problem getting it up."

"Right, you'd know all about it, mister 'gimme two minutes and I can go again'." There was no need for him to snap, and Steve's face twisted, flickering through hurt and annoyance.

"The hell with you," Steve muttered, getting up from the bed. He snatched up his pants and started pulling them on, turning his back on Bucky. The tension was writ clear in his back and his shoulders, and if Bucky had thought he couldn't feel worse, Steve was proving him wrong now.

"Steve," he said, quiet and and cowed. "Stevie--”

He didn't mean for his voice to break. He didn't want his eyes to burn or his throat to get full and thick. Bucky turned away so Steve wouldn't see, and it might've worked if he still had that trick ear, but there was no disguising the sound of a stifled sob from him now. Steve came up behind him, and his voice came out like the sound of a heart breaking.

"Bucky--"

He flinched a little as Steve put his arms around him from behind. "Shhh, it's okay," Steve whispered, his breath hot on the back of Bucky's neck. "I got you. It's just me'n you."

Bucky was disgusted with himself; he'd probably never cried this much since he was in mother's arms, but Steve didn't seem to mind. He just held on tight, and after a couple of minutes turned Bucky around in his arms so that he could put his face into the nook of Steve's shoulder and pretend everything was okay.

Steve urged him onto the bed after a few minutes, nudging Bucky onto his side and crawling in behind him. "Let's get some rest, we can worry about this later," Steve whispered, pulling Bucky close.

Bucky sighed. "Sure, Steve."

He was used to all of Steve's nonverbal pleas and complaints; the soft, plaintive sound he made in his throat carried disapproval, and he moved his hands up to touch Bucky's shoulders. "I mean it, this is okay. I just wanna be close to you again."

He dug his fingers into Bucky’s tense shoulder muscles and kneaded at them, pressing firm and just the right side of painful. Steve used to do this for him after a long day at work, but his hands and wrists got tired easy, and he could never keep it up for long, or go as deep as he really wanted.

"You mind?" Steve mumbled, breath warm and soothing on the back of his neck.

Bucky moaned. "Christ, you kiddin'? You can do that as long as you like."

Steve rolled Bucky onto his stomach and sat up so he could rub his back properly. Bucky didn't even try and argue; it didn't seem like Steve was likely to give in anyway, so instead he closed his eyes and let himself melt into the sheets as Steve slowly, methodically worked at the knots in his back. After he'd kneaded at the worst of the tender spots, wringing the kind of noises out of Bucky that he didn't think he'd ever made even in bed, his touch gentled until he was more stroking than massaging. Bucky felt himself start to drift, and he tried to tell Steve as much, but his voice was a mumble and he gave up.

 

 

When Bucky woke up, it was dark. He was disoriented, but he was warm and comfortable, more relaxed and rested than he could remember feeling in a long time. Steve was curled up behind him, breathing steady and slow against the back of his neck, and Bucky swallowed against a slug of guilt at the surge of heat he felt down in the pit of his stomach. He'd been dreaming about Steve, he knew that much. He remembered hazy details; Steve's skinny wrists held against the mattress; the soft skin of his stomach quivering under Bucky's tongue, the way his mouth dropped open as he came fast, with all the restraint of a champagne bottle popping.

Worried that Steve would notice his quick breathing and discover how hard he was, Bucky tried to shuffle out of Steve's arms.

"Mm, Bucky, stay," Steve mumbled, grabbing onto him.

His arms went tight around Bucky's chest, making him wince. Bucky struggled, and he protested a little breathlessly. "Hey, let up, sport, you're crushing me here."

"Mm," Steve mumbled, but he rolled away and let Bucky scramble up off the bed. “Where’re y’goin’?”

“Take a leak.” As Bucky stood up, his brain finally caught up to the rest of him. The dream had messed him up, made him expect to find a bundle of sticks in his bed, not a fucking Olympian, and he looked down at Steve in surprise. “Fuck, you’re huge.”

Steve snorted, and his eyes opened a crack. “You forget?”

“Kinda.” Bucky swallowed, and Steve reached out to him. Before he realized what he’d done, Bucky had scooted backwards, out of reach. Steve’s eyes showed the hurt there, just for a second, before he shrugged and slumped back down on the bed. “I -- I gotta piss,” Bucky muttered, turning and staggering into the bathroom. 

With a locked door between them, Bucky felt himself relax slightly. Not all the way. He wasn’t used to putting locked doors between himself and Steve. He pressed his shoulders against the door for a moment, before going over to the john to relieve himself. On the other side of the wall, Steve got up and moved around the room. Probably picking up their discarded clothes. Making the bed. Doing all those neat, un-Steve things he did now. Bucky splashed some water on his face and glanced down at his johnson. It was still half interested in proceedings, even though he’d emptied his bladder. 

“Where the fuck were you this afternoon?” Bucky mumbled, scowling at it. “Jerk.”

Steve knocked gently on the door. “Buck?”

“Comin’,” he said, reaching for a towel to dry his face and hands. Steve was still stood there when he opened the door, his hands on his hips, looking annoyed and ridiculous. “Go on, I’m done.”

“I don’t want the bathroom, dummy.” Steve reached out, and this time Bucky managed not to flinch when Steve took his hand. He reminded himself that he wanted this. He wanted _Steve_. “What’s going on?”

Bucky shook his head. “I dunno. This is -- this is just a lot to take in.”

“But you do want it, right?”

Steve’s eyes, when Bucky looked up high enough to find them, were wide and anxious. Sometimes it seemed like Steve wasn’t scared of anything, but Bucky knew better. Steve was scared a lot of the time, but being scared only made him fight harder. And he obviously thought there was something worth fighting for _here_ , and maybe Bucky needed to stop being a selfish asshole about the whole thing. 

He tilted his head up and nuzzled in against the underside of Steve’s jaw, nose and lips scraping over Steve’s two day stubble. “How ‘bout I just show you,” he muttered, and Steve shivered hard. 

“I wish you would.”

Bucky grabbed Steve’s wrist and led him over to the bed. He liked the idea of taking Steve apart in the dark, but mostly he wanted Steve to understand that Bucky wanted him, however he could have him. So before he joined Steve on the bed, he reached over to switch on the lamp. Steve blinked at him in the sudden light, but he didn’t move, didn’t say anything, he just lay half-on the bed and waited for Bucky. 

“You stupid ass,” Bucky muttered, his voice thick with affection. “How long you been waitin’ for me?”

Steve shook his head, making his hair fall into his eyes. “You don’t wanna know.”

Bucky groaned, and then nothing was gonna hold him back. He climbed onto the bed, clambering into Steve’s lap without a care this time, and grabbing him up in a kiss. Steve gasped into his mouth and pulled Bucky against him. He was trembling again, and Bucky realized that he was too when he reached up to bury his fingers in Steve’s hair. For all that they’d kissed, touched, been in each other’s space in the past twenty-four hours, it felt far away now, almost like it had been a dream and they were just really starting now. 

“You said--” Bucky gasped, twisting his head away to evade Steve’s mouth. Steve just started kissing a line down his neck instead. “You said you’d done this kinda thing before? With guys?”

Steve huffed. “Uh huh. Not that many times.” He put his hand on Bucky’s thigh. “The other night. Were you just tryin’ t’make me jealous?”

“I’m sorry,” Bucky muttered, cupping his face and kissing him hard. “I’m real sorry, Stevie, I am, I just -- I saw you with Carter, and I panicked--”

Steve tutted and pushed against Bucky’s hands. “You’re so stupid.”

“Yeah,” Bucky whispered, his breath catching when Steve’s hands ran over his thighs, fingers digging into his hips. “Learned from the best.” 

Steve rocked against him, and Bucky groaned and rolled his hips down, almost breathless with relief that his body was responding to Steve, as if it could forget how after ten or twelve years of wanting. They were barely kissing now, just pressing their faces close together, their mouths occasionally interlocking or sliding off one another as they panted over each other’s skin. The friction of Steve’s skin was pushing him too close, too fast, and Bucky wanted to ask him to slow down, but Steve had other ideas. 

Putting his teeth in Bucky's shoulder, Steve rolled them over so they lay on their sides facing one another. "D'you remember that summer when we were fourteen?" Steve whispered, reaching between them to wrap his fist around Bucky's dick.

"Y - Yeah," Bucky whimpered. "Your ma went away."

"That was the first time I felt like this about you."

Bucky shook his head. "Nuh uh. You liked that girl up the street."

"Yeah, but she didn't feel me up on my own fire escape."

"I oughta hope not," Bucky said, but Steve's hand took the smartass out of his tone and he just sounded breathless and desperate.

Steve grinned, and Bucky reached out and dragged him close enough to kiss. He was urgent, all teeth and fingers tugging at Steve's hair, but Steve forced him to slow down, timing the slow slide of their tongues with the languid rhythm of his fingers around Bucky's dick.

“Steve,” Bucky hissed, “Stevie, yeah, shit--”

"You ready to go already?" Steve pushed the words against his cheek, a smile that Bucky chased with a kiss. Steve laughed and turned out of it. "You want me to take you there? Buck?"

"Jesus fuckin' Christ you're a tease," Bucky moaned.

"That a yes?"

"Yes, Stevie, yeah, fuckin' yeah--"

Without a hint of warning, Steve pushed him over onto his back and slid down the bed. Bucky opened his mouth, to say what, he wasn't even sure, but he didn't get a word out before Steve sucked him down like a lollipop. It was quite easily the sweetest thing that had ever happened to him, better because it was _Steve_ , and he’d wanted this since he was fourteen, baking on a fire escape with the sunset making Steve’s crooked back glow. 

Steve obviously had enough experience not to make a total mess of it, although Bucky was almost relieved that he didn’t seem like an expert. Didn’t matter. Either way it just made him feel right, all the way down. It wasn’t right to say he’d waited for this, because he’d never expected it to happen, but it still felt like he’d been gone for a long, long time, and finally found his way back to where he’d started. Steve grabbed hold of his hips, and Bucky moaned and pushed up against his hands, relishing the sensation of being held down. There was something safe about it, knowing that he wouldn’t hurt Steve -- Steve wouldn’t _let_ him hurt anyone.

And that’s to say nothing of his mouth, which was hot and slow, a little like the feeling of sinking into the hot bath, long overdue and all the more welcome for it. Tentative at first, Bucky pushed his fingers through Steve’s hair, brushing it back off his forehead and lifting his own head so he could watch Steve’s lips opening around his dick. 

“Guess -- this oughta feel strange,” Bucky muttered. Steve opened his eyes and looked up at him, his brow creased in a frown, and Bucky threaded his fingers through his hair again. “Just feels good.” Steve hummed in response, and Bucky groaned. “God, so fuckin’ good.”

Steve kept on sucking him off, sliding down slow and steady, then putting a little extra pressure on when he popped back up to the top. He moved his hand to cover Bucky’s left, pressing it more firmly against his scalp, then he curled his fingers around Bucky’s dick, holding it in place so he could move over it faster, sliding it deep into his throat. 

“Aw, Christ,” Bucky whined, taking the hint and grabbing a fistful of Steve’s hair. Steve moaned loudly, tipping his head back so that Bucky’s dick slipped out of his mouth and slapped against his belly. The sudden cessation of contact made him whimper, shoving his hips up for more, and Steve pushed him down again. “Steve -- Stevie, _please_ \--”

Steve shuffled up the bed to kiss him, cupping his palm around Bucky’s jaw and licking at the inside of his mouth. He pushed Bucky down into the bed, and Bucky took it gratefully, winding his arms around Steve’s neck, going for the full on third-date smooch. 

“You idiot.” Steve giggled, pulling back from him a little. “Don’t kiss me like I’m a dame. I’m not made of glass,” he muttered, grazing his knuckles over Bucky’s dick, before taking it in his hand again. “You can be rough with me -- I _want_ you to.”

It didn't take him long with Steve whispering and working him through it, his mouth fever hot against Bucky's throat. He grabbed onto Steve's shoulders when he felt himself hit the point of no return, digging in with his nails, rougher than he ever would've allowed himself to be with Steve before. Bucky was spouting nonsense now, obscenities and pleas for more, for release, for Steve’s hands, his mouth, his voice--

“I got you, Bucky,” Steve murmured, pressing his teeth against Bucky’s neck. It wasn’t quite a bite, just a reminder that he was there, that he could take charge if he wanted. It made Bucky’s brain go haywire, the sensations of Steve touching him jolting through his body. He gasped and clutched at Steve while he lost his mind, hips jerking up against Steve’s arm and his stomach while he shot his load over them both, painting their skin with it. 

When he remembered how to breathe, he grabbed for Steve’s head and pulled him into a heavy, punishing kiss, biting hard at his bottom lip. “You fuckin’ doll,” he muttered, and tugged at Steve’s hair again just to hear the noise he’d make. It got him a low, urgent growl, and he smiled sleepily. “Mm you’re a sweet thing, ain’tcha, sugar? Treat me so good,”

Steve laughed breathlessly. “You -- you talk such bull when you’re outta your head, Buck.”

“Don’t care,” Bucky mumbled. He turned into Steve’s neck, tugging his head back out of the way again and nipping at his throat, the stubbled skin on the underside of his jaw. “You don’t care neither.”

“Guess I don’t,” Steve said, rocking his hips up against Bucky. His dick was pressed into Bucky’s stomach, hard and urgent, and he had that faint blush on his cheekbones again. 

Bucky urged Steve over him, putting a proprietary hand on his ass, which made Steve gasp and thrust up against his hip. “Tell me what you want, kitten,” Bucky murmured, and chuckled when Steve scowled down at him. “Sorry, that one just slipped out.”

“Don’t mind,” Steve murmured, pushing his ass back against Bucky’s hand, before rubbing up against his hip again. “This okay? I kinda -- god, Buck -- not gonna take much here.”

Bucky laughed and rubbed his palm over Steve’s chest, before slipping it around to his back and urging him on faster. “Yeah well,” he muttered, “you always go off half-cocked.”

“Screw you,” Steve hissed, his face twisting up with pleasure that looked an awful lot like pain, except for the sweet flush spreading down his neck and the sounds he was making. Bucky could’ve looked at him like that all night, but Steve was already walking too close to the edge. Even if Bucky wasn’t used to seeing this, he’d _heard_ it plenty of times. 

“All shook up,” Bucky murmured, scratching his nails over Steve’s ass, laughing when it made him shiver and moan. “Look at you, just ready to pop--”

“Bucky--”

“Spill all over me--”

“Bucky, shut _up_ \--”

“Yeah, cover me in that cream soda--”

Steve swore loudly when he finally went off, muffling his noisy cries in Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky cradled him through it, even while Steve cursed him and called him a stupid number of names. Just this once, Bucky let him get away with it, because he’d probably deserved it anyway. At least Steve was considerate enough to drop his weight down beside Bucky, rather than on top of him, just one heavy arm and thigh thrown over him protectively. 

“You’re a jackass,” Steve mumbled, tracing his fingertips over Bucky’s ribs. 

Bucky shrugged, which earned him a scowl and a swat from Steve, who was trying to snuggle into his neck. “Guess that makes you a jackass too for likin’ me.”

Steve huffed, but he relaxed and pulled Bucky closer. “Guess so.”

"You know we never could have done this back home. Been like this."

"Bullshit, Bucky. In Brooklyn? Nobody woulda looked twice at you for carrying on with a little guy like me, not around the Heights anyway."

Bucky groaned and shoved at him. He might’ve known Steve would wanna play _I told you so_ , talk about how long they could’ve been doing this, but that was the last thing Bucky wanted. He couldn’t feel much worse about himself right now, but that would do it. "Quit that, all right? We're here now ain't we?"

“Yeah,” Steve muttered. He kissed just behind Bucky’s ear, soft and careful. “We’re here.”

 

 

Bucky slept right through that night. Whether Steve squashed the nightmares out of him with his stupid bulk, or whether he was just so exhausted from the previous two days, Bucky didn’t really care. The sun was shining in on him when he woke up, full and bright, and with his face buried in a pillow that smelled like Steve, it was almost like waking up in Brooklyn. 

He realized after a moment what had woken him; Steve closed the door behind him, not taking the trouble to be quiet, and walked across the room to the bed. 

“Morning, Buck,” he said, bright and cheerful. He dumped his bag on the floor, and laid a stack of folded clothes on the end of the bed. 

“I’m up, I’m up,” Bucky mumbled, pushing himself up against the headboard, “no need for the drill sergeant routine. I’ll get movin’ in a minute.”

To his surprise, Steve climbed onto the bed in his clothes and pushed Bucky back down into the pillows. “I laid out for another two days. We’re on leave, Buck, I’m keeping you here as long as I can.”

Bucky’s eyes dropped to the sheets, his stomach leaping unpleasantly. “Stevie - everyone’ll _know_.”

“Nobody even has to know we’re in _London_.” Steve reached out to touch Bucky’s hair, flatten a stray lock of his messy bed hair. It was the kind of thing he’d have done before, maybe even with the same dopey look on his face. God, Bucky was stupid. “Peggy won’t say anything, and I’ve told them all I know about HYDRA. Now we’re just waiting on Howard to gear us up so we can get back in the fray.”

Bucky frowned. “Like I’m your mistress now? Your dirty little secret?”

“You’ve been my dirty little secret for a long time, Buck,” Steve said, looking solemn, “you just didn’t know it.”

Scowling, because that was true for both of them, and completely inarguable, Bucky changed tactics. “So, what, you’re just gonna keep me stashed here? I guess this way I can’t embarrass you.”

Steve recoiled from him. “No, Bucky, don’t be stupid. You can do what you want, I’m just sayin’. If you wanna stay here a little longer, it ain’t a problem.” He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “But if you wanna go, I ain’t gonna stop ya.” 

There was no point getting sore, not after all this time, not when they might get blown up or found out any day. Bucky sighed and pushed the anger out of him; it was nothing, really, just pent up frustration. “Ya big lug,” he muttered, reaching for Steve. “I ain’t goin’ nowhere without you.”

Steve sighed into him, big body melting against Bucky like he was meant to be there. “I brought you some spare rags anyway, if you do wanna go out.”

“Am I likely to need those, Rogers?” Bucky asked, with a significant look at the pile of secondhand gear. 

Steve grinned and leaned over to him. He didn’t go for a smooch, just tucked his head into Bucky’s shoulder with a contented sigh. “Not if I get a say in it, but you’re gonna want ‘em eventually.”

Lying back, he pulled Steve down with him, wrapping him into his arms and nudging him into a lazy makeout session. Steve was really too big to lie on top of him now; he must’ve been nothing but muscle and strong, heavy bones to weigh so much, but Bucky was surprised to find there was something comforting about it. 

Slowly, taking his time so he could enjoy it, Bucky got Steve out of his uniform -- still proud enough to put on his army gladrags just to go pick up a few things from the grubby bunkhouse -- and gave each piece of Steve he uncovered plenty of attention with his mouth or his fingers. When they were both finally naked, Steve panting into Bucky’s neck and pawing at him eagerly, he pushed his mouth up against Bucky’s ear and practically _moaned_ , “I -- I wanna do you.”

Bucky shuddered, and squeezed his legs tight around Steve’s thighs. “ _Yes_ , Stevie, shit yeah--”

Steve laughed, hot and dirty into his skin. “Not now, but--”

“ _Yes now_ ,” Bucky hissed, clawing at Steve’s shoulders and pushing his hips up. 

“Bu-uck, I can’t do it, not just like this, not when you ain’t--” 

He blushed, and Bucky lifted an eyebrow. “Ain’t what, kid?”

Steve put his head down and muffled his voice in the pillow. “You ain’t wet.”

“Yadda yadda, Rogers,” Bucky said, laughing. “I know you got vaseline and rubbers in your kit, same as any of us.”

“That ain’t what it’s for, Buck.”

“No, but if you wanna screw--” He paused to smirk, and reached down to squeeze Steve’s dick with his left hand. “And I think you do--”

“Aw Jesus Christ,” Steve moaned, bucking up against him. “You’re the devil, Bucky Barnes.”

Bucky laughed and kissed him quiet. “Out of the two of us, you’ve always been the bad influence.”

“Am not,” Steve mumbled, but there wasn’t a lot of conviction behind it. 

“Go on.” Bucky shoved him off -- or rather, he gave Steve a push, which did nothing, and Steve scowled and got up himself. He crouched down by his bag and rummaged through it, wearing a severe expression. 

“Dammit,” he muttered, scrambling through his kit.

Bucky propped himself up on his elbows. “Don’t tell me gotta use soap.”

Steve shook his head. “I got the vaseline, no rubbers though.”

“Used ‘em already? You _have_ been busy, Captain.”

“Shut your noise, Barnes. I ain’t used ‘em, just ain’t got any.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Well you ain’t gonna catch nothin’ from me,” he said, hoping it was true. He was usually careful.

Steve got up and climbed back onto the bed. “Me either. I dunno if I can even get sick now. I ain’t had a cold in months.”

“Hallelujah. Now screw me already, I ain’t getting any younger.”

“You ain’t getting any prettier neither, but I don’t let that worry me.”

Bucky laughed loudly, and Steve’s grin made him feel light and warm. “That’s right, Rogers. Keep on sassin’ me, see where that gets you.”

Steve did shut his mouth, or at least his smart remarks, because it was hard to make rude comments about someone if you were too preoccupied with kissing them. Bucky didn’t wanna waste any time, and he hitched his knees up and tried to grab the vaseline tin off of Steve, but he protested and pulled his arm out of reach. 

“Quit it, Buck,” he admonished gently. “You don’t hafta do everything. Let me help out.”

Bucky lay back and jammed a pillow under his ass, and almost swallowed his tongue when Steve started sucking in his dick again. 

“I like doin’ it,” Steve said simply, when Bucky squawked in surprise and tried, haltingly, to tell him he didn’t have to. “Like the way you taste.”

That was more than Bucky could cope with, so he just surrendered himself to Steve’s tongue, to the careful fingers stretching him slowly, occasionally pushing himself off the mattress with his heels dug in, feeling himself nudge at the back of Steve’s throat until his eyes rolled in his head. Finally, _finally_ , when Bucky was trembling through his release in Steve’s mouth, his thighs shaking either side of Steve’s head, Steve sat up and rolled him over onto his belly. 

“You ready?” he asked gently, before he leaned in to run his tongue along Bucky’s spine. His voice was rough and gritty and warm, but Bucky still shivered. 

“I was ready the minute you walked in here, Rogers,” he grunted, turning his head so he could peer back at Steve over his shoulder. “C’mon, I’m done waiting.”

Steve half laughed, half groaned, and shook his head, damp hair falling in his eyes. “Jackass.” His voice was soft and fond, and he betrayed himself further with the gentle hand he laid on Bucky’s back, just above his tailbone, before he started to push inside him. 

“Jesus, Mary an’ Joseph,” Bucky moaned, before he shoved a corner of the pillow in his mouth. Steve’s palm rubbed a smooth circle over the small of his back as he inched his way inside, and Bucky couldn’t quite decide if he wanted to cry or laugh, or something else entirely. Steve moved his hands to Bucky’s hips, gripping them tight while he edged slowly out again. This time, when Steve started to move back in, Bucky pushed back to meet him, and Steve let out a broken sound like a sob. 

“Christ, Bucky,” he whined, snapping his hips forward, hard. “Take it easy, I don’t wanna hurt you.”

Bucky groaned. “You _won’t_ ,” he snapped. “Just do it.”

Apparently swallowing his misgivings, Steve set an easy rhythm between them. He released his grip on Bucky’s right hip to slide his palm up his back, and Bucky shuddered at the attention. “This -- this is okay?” Steve asked him, his voice jerking. 

“Uh huh. It’s better than okay -- shit, Steve, I can take it’, c’mon, I want it--”

Steve whined, sounding like he wanted to argue, but he did let Bucky have it a little harder, picking up his pace slightly. The headboard was knocking into the wall, _just_ enough to be audible in the next rooms, but Bucky didn’t have it in him to care. It was obvious Steve was still holding back a little, but given how strong he was now, that was probably just as well. Bucky quickly forgot about it as Steve drove him deeper into the sheets, the hand on his back pushing down between his shoulderblades, forcing him to arch up into Steve’s thrusts. 

Bucky didn’t know how long it lasted; he was drifting, wrapped up in the lingering sense of his own pleasure, in the sound and feel of Steve’s. When Steve came, clutching him hard, choking on Bucky’s name, it almost felt like he was experiencing a little of himself. 

Steve pulled him down into the messy sheets after, the two of them pressed so tight into each other’s skin they couldn’t have gotten closer if they tried.

 

 

It was a week since Steve had taken him to the hotel. Bucky had slept, eaten and been screwed better in that week than in the rest of his life so far. He didn’t know where Steve had scraped together the extra rations, and he wasn’t going to ask. He was still getting over the fact that _Howard Stark_ had taken them out for dinner. Steve was in with the bigwigs again, and Bucky was waiting for him, from a lack of anything better to do. He was still wearing his donated clothes, but he’d been promised a new uniform soon. He wasn’t part of the 107th anymore, not that the tattered rags of his old unit could really be called a unit anymore; now he was a part of whatever crazed scheme Steve had cooked up with Philips. 

He’d found a two day old newspaper, which didn’t have much to tell him but it kept his hands and his eyes busy while he sat on a hard bench in a hallway and waited. 

From around the corner, he heard the sound of high heels on the tiled floor, and he glanced up from his paper, ready with a crooked smile and a wink. Then Agent Carter strode into view, and he hurried to ditch the paper and scramble to his feet. 

"Sergeant Barnes." Carter snapped off a salute and Bucky hurried to do the same.

"Agent Carter."

“May I have a word?” she said, in a tone that was unquestionably _not_ a request. She gestured to a nearby office door, and raised an eyebrow. 

Bucky nodded. “Of course.” She opened the door and waved him inside, before closing it behind them. 

"I hope you're well? I understood from Captain Rogers that you--"

"I'm fine, ma'am." Bucky gritted his teeth and tried to hold in the urge to scream. It wasn’t Carter’s fault. She was a good woman, a damn good soldier from what he’d heard, and he was sure she’d be good enough for Steve. If only he could make himself believe it.

"I'm very glad to hear it."

"So," he said, when it became obvious she wasn't going to say anymore, "you've officially promoted him to Captain?"

She nodded. "It was agreed that Captain America would command more respect if the rank were factual rather than symbolic."

"I'm sure you're right."

Carter nodded, but her expression was strained. "He's going to need help, Barnes. Rogers may be smart as a whip, but he's never seen real action. He doesn't know how to plan an attack, or give or take orders. I know he'll make a good leader, but he'll make mistakes, and he’ll take it hard."

“I get it, Agent,” Bucky said, looking away from her. “I already said I’d go with him.”

“I hope you know I’m not just asking you as his friend, Sergeant. You’ve proven yourself as a brave and capable officer, not to mention an exceptional sniper.”

“Aw, now you’re just trying to make me blush.”

“He won’t get through it without you,” Carter said, and Bucky was a little surprised to hear the pleading in her voice. He looked up and caught her eyes, and was taken aback by the force in them. It was easy, then, to see why Steve had fallen so hard for her. She was strong and terrifying, but she was kind, too. He could see it in her eyes how much she cared about Steve, but she’d given him up for Bucky to have a chance. 

“You’re crazy, Carter,” he muttered, glancing away again because he couldn’t stop himself cringing. He couldn’t bear to think that he’d robbed her of the chance to be with Steve, or Steve’s chance to be with her. Bucky shook his head at himself. He really was the lowest. 

Carter sighed. “Yes, that’s what men always say when they don’t understand what a woman is thinking, and can’t be bothered to ask.”

He looked up sharply. “Now hold on--”

“I’m blaming your sex, Barnes, not you. I know you’re perfectly capable of being polite and charming, even intelligent, when it suits you. I doubt Rogers would bother with you otherwise.”

Bucky snorted. "Yeah, well, Steve's the smartest idiot I ever met. Nicest jerk too."

To his surprise, Carter smiled. It wasn’t a smile designed to threaten or intimidate, it was warm and genuine. It was a smile for Steve. “Yes, Barnes, I think you may be right about that. But then, I suppose you know him better than anyone.”

“I guess so.”

She frowned slightly, pursing her lips as if she wasn’t quite sure how to phrase what she wanted to say next. “He -- please take care of him, Barnes.”

That took Bucky by surprise. As if he’d do any different. As if he ever had. "I'm not sure exactly what you're asking me he--"

"If you were a woman," Carter interrupted him, in a steady voice, "I'd tell you that if you break his heart, I'll rip you in two." She smiled at him, sweet and terrifying. “I’m sure you can extrapolate for your own situation.”

Bucky cleared his throat. “Uh, yes, ma’am.”

“And just in case it needs clarifying, I don’t recommend you get any foolish ideas, like convincing him he ought to marry me or anything. I don’t think you quite understand what you mean to him, Barnes.”

“Ma’am, that’s certainly true.”

 

 

They were in the mess that evening when Steve leaned over and nudged Bucky with his shoulder. “You talked to Peggy.”

“Sure did.” Steve looked like he was about to fall out of his seat, he was so nervous, and Bucky stuck his hands in his pockets to stop himself from reaching out to touch him. “You picked yourself one scary dame, Rogers. I oughta guessed you wouldn’t settle for just any pretty pussycat.”

Steve shook his head. “Sure, Buck, she’s a tiger, but she ain’t my girl.”

“She would be.”

“No. Even if -- it wouldn’t be the right time.”

“Never is.”

“She tell you to say this?”

Bucky smiled. “She told me not to.”

“Then I think you oughta do what she asked.” Steve’s eyes were stern, but he cracked after a second and smiled fondly. “I think Peggy’s the best friend I ever had, after you. I don’t -- I can’t do this if you two--”

“We’re fine,” Bucky said quietly. “She’s one hell of a woman. I still think you’re crazy for not taking her dancing.”

Steve shrugged, and nudged Bucky with his shoulder again. “Well, maybe after we win this war.”

“I’ll hold you to that, pal.”

“I know you will.”

**Author's Note:**

> [My tumblr.](http://notallbees.tumblr.com/) Also, if you liked it that much, [reblog it](http://notallbees.tumblr.com/post/102790832430/theres-nothing-left-of-you-22346-words-by#notes)! :D
> 
>  
> 
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> 
> Also, my eternal thanks to [lickerish](http://archiveofourown.org/users/lickerish/) and [nekare](http://archiveofourown.org/users/nekare/) for kicking my ass until I finished this :3


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